


Between the Lines

by JSinister32



Series: How You'll Find Me [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Pines for Will, Hurt feelings, Letters in Confinement, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, romantic feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25842070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSinister32/pseuds/JSinister32
Summary: Hannibal may have allowed himself to be captured, but he did so with the knowledge that Will would always know where he is.  He is right where he needs to be when the profiler needs him.Once settled into the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he finds he has the compulsion to write to Will, reach out to ensure they’re still connected, and keep himself in the forefront of the profiler’s mind.When Will receives each letter, does he have the willpower to resist responding, or the courage to say what’s on his mind?
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: How You'll Find Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046836
Comments: 84
Kudos: 196





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who have been following this story, I wanted to warn you all I changed the format to both Hannibal and Will's stories in the same chapters. After a lot of consideration I'm going to be making this the first part of a three part tale. They'll all be in the same format: letters between Hannibal and Will in the three years that they're apart between Hannibal's incarceration and the Red Dragon. But I'm going to be splitting it up into a part for each year. It makes more sense to have the chapter format set up the way it is now.
> 
> Because of the changes, if you've commented on chapters that no longer exist, I apologize they were deleted. If you'd like to leave your comments again, you will be my favorites amongst all of my darlings that read my tales (just kidding, you're all my favorites).
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Hearts and body parts,  
> JM

January 6th

Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

My Dear Will,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have an inkling it will take you many months to gain the necessary courage to open it. I have no doubt that once you do, you will wear the edges thin, fold it, crumple it and smooth it back out when the ink begins to fade, hoping to bring the words back to the surface where they have taken the abuse of your shattered heart. I did shatter it, didn’t I? Sometime in the future, I may apologize for it. I find that broken things heal stronger than they were before the damage. Perhaps these are my hopes for you. Do not let the damage cripple you. Rebuild yourself strong, like you are meant to be.

By the time this is opened, I suspect the weather will have shifted from the frigid temperatures we are currently experiencing to something resembling spring. Is it March? April? When we meet again, I would be interested to know when you decide to face the contents within the sheets I am currently penning. Are the trees by your home beginning to gather blossoms yet? Or have you moved past what occurred between us, giving you the ability to face my words while the limbs are still frosted in crystalline white? Do you sit by the fire, intent on tossing the pages into the flames once you read them? Are you hoping it will consume your emotions as well? 

How did the cut on your cheek from Cordell’s knife fare? I hope the scar isn’t too much a reminder of what could have happened, or of what fate you may have suffered had I not escaped. It may balance out your features if it does not fade, though I do regret giving you the mark on your forehead. Such perfection shouldn’t be marred by botched surgical scars, yet you seem to collect them like young boys collect baseball cards. Perhaps you should search for something less violent for a career, or keep Jack out of your classroom should you choose to return to the bureau. I hope very much that you resist becoming entangled within his web a second time. Look where it got you for your efforts.

Do you wonder the current state in which I am living? I would be happy to share. Although I now sit in solitude within the clutches of our esteemed Doctor Chilton, it is Alana that keeps me in relative comfort. Although I took her life, she is now my benefactor and I must tread carefully in my reminders that her time with the life she is building is borrowed. I wonder how far I can push her before she takes away the privileges she’s deemed I deserve. Should I test the strength of my constraints, rattle the cage bars? Or should I leave her in peace for now, safe with the knowledge that I am not free to complete what I began the day she decided to choose bravery over intelligence? I have yet to decide, and I am otherwise occupied, so her torment doesn’t often cross my mind. I think I will allow her to believe she holds the power… for now. It may better serve me to remind her later, and I do not like to waste my promises. She brings me small comforts; my drawings and my books, although I’m not permitted a scalpel to sharpen my pencils. They are not nearly as clean without one, but I am told I should be thankful for what I have been given. What do you think? 

Since I have been offered so many opportunities within the confinement of the hospital, I have not spent nearly the amount of time within my memory palace as I expected I would, although I do find myself perusing the many rooms I have built over the course of my life. I find you there often, in places where I least expect to encounter you. You’ve played in the gardens of my childhood with Mischa. You’ve made snow angels with Abigail. You’ve gone hunting with Chiyoh. I see you everywhere, even when I try to escape you. Tell me, Will. What do you make of the state of my mind if I turned myself in, but even confined within the walls of a psychiatric ward with no access to you, I still find you traversing within the walls of my memories? You may not be a psychiatrist, but your empathetic link should provide some interesting and satisfying answers, even if it’s information you’d prefer not to share. 

Where do we stand, you and I? We will never be truly free of one another. If you believe you can answer the question of surviving separation with a resounding yes, you have deluded yourself. I will never be who I am meant to be without you by my side. You will never become without me by yours. You may fool yourself for a time that you can be happy with mediocrity, but we are keenly aware of the scent of one another. Don’t worry, you know longer smell of the brain fever you once suffered. Should I apologize for allowing it to overtake you to the degree it did? Some part of me believes that you’ve always hoped I would exhibit remorse for the trials I put you through, but you always came through exceeding my expectations, so you make remorse a difficult emotion to attach to such events. Would it help to know that I never wished you any true harm? Not at this time, I am certain, but I remain hopeful, Will. 

Perhaps you will take my advice and search for an aftershave befitting your taste and personality, but on this I do not hold out much hope. When you choose to visit, I will know you just by your scent. I could close my eyes and breathe you in from across a room. It gives me a thrill to have my senses attuned to you to such a degree that I could pick you out of a crowd by something so intimate. Maybe I would not favor a change, as I have grown almost fond of it.

I fear I must end my correspondence here for now. I do not think it wise to reach for your affection just yet, but do not fret. I am a patient man, and I will get what I want, eventually. I know you, Will. I know you will come for me. It may take months or years. Eventually, you will be driven back into my path, and when you are… I will not let you go.

Take care of yourself while I cannot. Should you feel the inclination to write, your words, even on paper, would be most welcome. I look forward to our next face to face encounter, but until then, I am content knowing that you will never truly be without me. You bear too many of my scars for that.

I Remain Faithfully Yours, _  
_

_Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

January 18th

From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter   
Letter unsent

Hello Doctor Lecter,

I am still unsure if you will ever read this, but I feel I must be honest with myself, even if I choose to keep the honesty contained to this audience of one. How does it make you feel to know that when this letter is concluded, it will be nestled beneath my gun in the bottom drawer of my dresser? It seemed a fitting place to store you; beneath the object I own that is capable of inflicting the most damage to a person. I cannot count myself on that list, as I was only ever seen as less than a person by you.

I feel my responses to your questions may prove to be unsatisfactory. I opened your letter upon receiving it, I just chose not to reply until today. It didn’t require courage, only a tired sort of resolve. That means the branches outside are still frosted in white, much the way they were the night you gave yourself up. The look we shared when you knelt in the snow gave you away, Doctor. If either of us is feeling the constraint of emotional attachment, it would be you. I choose to very carefully feel nothing about the situation in which we have found ourselves. Because I know you’ll ask, I did not burn your letter. It is also contained beneath the gun. I feel it safest to keep it with a clear symbol to its intent, so if I do get the sudden urge to reread your words, I’ll be reminded of why I shouldn’t. The fire will not consume it, but neither do I have to be held captive by your perception of me. 

My cheek is healing fine, thank you. The scar you left isn’t any more prominent; such is the nature of facial lacerations. The skin can only be cut so deep that close to the scalp, and if treated properly, there is a good chance for minimal scarring, if any. Have you been out of the medical practice for so long that you’ve forgotten? The smile you left me on my abdomen… it shall remain as reminder of your penchant for physical damage when you’re emotionally compromised. I’m sure, with your vast understanding of both psychiatry and my pathology, that you know it doesn’t matter what career I pursue in the future; it will all be tainted by what has already transpired. What I told you in the Uffizi Gallery was the truth. You and I have begun to blur. I will never not carry you with me, be that good or bad. Perhaps you are my ultimate lesson of what happens when I let go and give in to what I want rather than what is good for me. A reminder to not engage in such behavior. You may be curious to know that Jack is giving me a wide berth. Everybody is. I am carefully feeling nothing about this turn of events as well. Perhaps I’ll take up fishing full time. Or fixing boat motors. Both are mundane enough to keep me out of the darker paths I once traversed at your heels.

I am not sure how I feel about you being given free rein of your cell. I’m sure it makes you less of a burden for everyone else involved, but it isn’t a punishment befitting your crimes. I hope, for Alana’s sake, that you choose a gentler approach with her. She has already been at the sharp end of your casual cruelty. For now, let her be. That is, if you can find it within yourself to do so. I’d be more curious to know how Doctor Chilton fares when left to your tender mercies. Have you brought him to tears yet, to do you two still discuss the benefits of unorthodox psychological experiments? Has he attempted any of his experiments on you, or does he stick to the charts? Perhaps you find some kinship in his company. Wouldn’t that be quite the turn of events? I have to ask, mainly to satisfy my idle curiosity. With what are you sharpening your pencils these days, or do you have to gnaw away the wood if you want to continue drawing? That would seem a particularly suitable punishment for your crimes. I would like to compare your drawings from before to what becomes of them. Maybe, with time, they’ll look like my clocks.

I have avoided sifting through the memories I have of our time together. It was both darker and more enlightening than any other time I’ve spent on this earth. I do not know why you chose me as the object of your obsession, but the changes you have made within me seem to be irrevocable, and not for a lack of trying. I believe I could have been content with my quiet existence had you left me alone. You have shown me color and light and freedom; things I would have been better without. I can’t turn back the clock, and I haven’t yet figured out how to move forward without your influence. I fear what I will find if I look inward, into my own memory palace. Will I see you standing at my side as I shoot Garrett Jacob Hobbs, quietly happy with the knowledge that you caused the carnage to his family? Will I see you repairing my hands after I took my aggression out on Randall Tier? Or will it be in far more intimate places that I’ll discover you? I have no desire at this time to find out. Maybe someday it’s place I’ll choose to go, but right now it’s dark and has too many teeth for me too attempt to navigate. 

My empathetic link, as you call it, tells me nothing beyond your obvious pathological need to destroy my life and rebuild it into something of your own making. What would you make of me if given the opportunity? What kind of monster would you turn me into? You can be sure that I would have never given in to taking another life had it not been for your influence. While the urge was there, I lacked the appetite before you came along. It was like chum in the water; I am not entirely sure I’d be able to stop unless I consciously remove myself from the situations in which I may be put in on the path to make that kind of decision. I don’t think you’ll be able to find an assassin to come after me on such short notice unless you send Chiyoh, but I’m not sure she’d help you make the kill when you yourself chose the cage.

You are right. We will never be free of one another. What you never seem to understand is I can choose not to act upon my need to test that bond. I can leave you alone, and hope that with time, the memories will fade away. I know that right now it feels like you died, and I mourn your passing. I could also liken it to losing a limb. The place where you once were still aches. I have no desire to further my becoming. The taste I got when with you was too far into the dark, and I wouldn’t be the same person when I emerged. 

I have long since forgiven you for my encephalitis, Doctor. I know you could smell it on me, and I am aware you attempted to exacerbate the issue to see what would happen. I blame your pathology, rather than laying blame solely on you. That would be irresponsible of me. As to whether you meant me harm… I think we once came to an agreement about your lies. I prefer sins of omission, remember? You did try to eat me. I’d call that harm, wouldn’t you?

Perhaps, should we ever be so unfortunate as to meet again, I will be wearing a finer aftershave than my current “bottle with the ship on it”. I cannot guarantee there will ever be such a shift in my current behavior that will allow for such changes, but it might be worth it for you to not be able to recognize me without meeting my eyes. But then again, that may be part of the appeal. Hopefully it’s a question that can remain unanswered. We could only be so lucky.

This seems to be enough for me right now. I would like to say take care of yourself, but it would seem insincere when I know you rely on the care of others in your current state. Don’t do anything that will make them wish you bodily harm. Alana is not the same fragile creature she was when you had Abigail push her from the window. She just needs a reason. Try not to give it to her. I don’t think you will ever receive this letter, but reciprocity is necessary in a relationship such as ours. Satisfaction is not. 

Remember this: you carry proof of our pain as well.

Will Graham


	2. February

February 12th

Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Dearest Will,

I have long since hoped for a response from you, yet I am not surprised to have not received one. Perhaps one day, when you chance to read the words I pen to you, you will have a need to reach out. All the world can be summed up in two words: Faith and Hope. I have faith you will come to me one day. I can hope that it is sooner than you anticipate, and driven by a need other than guilt of bodies piling up. We are inevitable, its just your choice on how long you fight it. How do you feel about time, now that your clocks have been set to rights? 

I have been giving a great deal of thought to Saint Valentine’s Day over the past week, perhaps because it draws so near. It is cold within the room in which they keep me, and thoughts such as these help keep me warm. Tell me, Will. If we were play roles in the legend that changed the pagan holiday of fertility to the more commercialized day of romance, who would you deem we play? Would it be Cupid and Psyche? Would you content yourself to the restrictions placed upon you by the bureau to insist you cannot or contact me, much as Cupid refused to help his own love when he was wounded? What would our trials entail, before we were free to be together again as we are meant to be? I can only pray that my constant companions would be kinder to me than Sorrow and Despair were to our brave Psyche, but as you have left me in the mercies of two equal creatures in Doctors Chilton and Bloom, I do not hold out much hope. I would prefer, of course if you likened our story to a kinder tale, such as that of Saint Valentine and the brave Julia, a woman borne to blindness who was cured by the touch of the man for whom the holiday is named… in one version of the tale, at any length. Would you allow me to lift your veil Will, or are you so stubborn that you would still prefer to remain woefully unenlightened? For now, I believe the latter, but I have faith that it shall not always be so. Perhaps you and I will share a toast some cold February evening. Should it be by candlelight, all the better. Some things in this world should not be done unless they are done to their fullest potential, romance among them. I believe this is a sentiment that with time, you will come to appreciate.

While we are discussing such things… how did you enjoy the Valentine I left you within the Cappella Palantina at Palermo? I was surprised when you found your way to Italy in such a short time given the injuries you sustained during our previous altercation, but it excited me that you knew where to look for me within the country. How did it feel to be back on the hunt? Did you feel my presence as I watched you study the scene, just as I felt yours when I created it? Much as I would like to deny it, you have never been far from my mind; not since you offered me your first glance in Jack’s office. Did you find it apt that I broke a man to profess my emotions for you? I didn’t understand the symbolism fully at the time, but I understand it now. I know now that I missed you, especially your ability to both see me and deny that what you are seeing is the truth. You always thought better of me.

I wonder now if you’d take back the forgiveness that you offered me in the catacombs beneath the church. I listened to your conversation with the Commendatore. It is too bad he chose not to heed your warnings. He may have kept his bowels intact had he done so. I have long since understood that forgiveness comes on many levels, and it did not mean that you did not wish to harm me. Jesus will have his wrath upon the world in the end, yet he forgave those who betrayed him and caused his demise. In a way, I know I caused yours as well. Although you move as if you are still amongst the living, part of you died on the floor with Abigail. I wonder which part of you it was.

I caught sight of you as you moved in the maze of tunnels beneath where I left you my heart. Were you truly attempting to apprehend me, or were you putting on a ruse for Commendatore Pazzi, allowing him to believe you were helping when you were, in fact, only attempting to make contact? I would love to know the answer to that question some day. What would have transpired between us if you had managed to apprehend me? It should come as no surprised that I very much wanted you to glimpse me, just so you could see how close we were that day. I couldn’t risk it of course, but the desire was there. How much do you remember of our long conversations of Italy, Will? I hope one day that it can be a place we experience together. I would very much enjoy standing beside you within the Cappella, lighting a candle for those we lost, for the life that we have left behind in favor of starting anew, side by side. Do you think Jack would feel it, even fractionally, if I said a prayer asking for his forgiveness as you gave me yours? What about our esteemed Doctor Bloom? What of Abigail, Will? Have you truly forgiven me for her passing? Do you understand that it is at your hand and your decisions that she no longer had a place in the world? Is that what you meant by giving me your forgiveness?

Do you remember the first meal we shared? Perhaps it was not such a significant event in your mind, but I’ve found myself seeking it out amongst so many other memories I have stored away in their separate rooms in my memories. I remember the way you smelled that day; the clean scent of your body, mixed with the delectable spice of fear left to you by your nighttime wanderings. I filed it away with all of the things I found uniquely yours, so when your scent changed with the encephalitis, I was able to discern it because I was so familiar with the way you should have smelled. I also distinctly recall that you were not happy to see me on your doorstep but you endured my company regardless. I could see that the desire to push me away was overwhelming, yet you chose to allow me to stay, and indulged me by consuming a meal with me. There is something distinctly intimate about sharing food, especially for the first time. It is a necessity, yet something we do in private so much of the time that to allow another the opportunity to share the event leaves its mark. It was wonderful to watch you consume the sausage I added to your meal. Did you know, even then, that the pig I used was of the long variety? Did you have any suspicions of me, Will? I don’t believe you did, not with the way your enjoyed the taste of your food. You had an appetite that you didn’t choose to suppress. I had high expectations of who you could be from that moment forward and you have yet to disappoint me. 

I often look through the skylight I have in my cell here. I avoid it during the day, as it’s too bitter a reminder of what it is to be free, which I believe is its true intent. While Alana would have me believe it’s to keep me from feeling as if I’m in a cage, it clearly represents a reprieve of the walls that hold me in, making the room that much smaller. But at night, when there is no moon, I can see the stars. I can’t make out constellations; the opening is too small for that. I can still see them glittering above me, when I have the inclination to turn my head skyward. I often wonder if you have a view of the same stars from your home. We are not so far apart in physical distance, you and I. I believe that if you were to take a look outside on any given night, we would be sharing the same skies. It makes me feel connected to you, knowing we share the stars.

I hope that you spare me a thought in the coming days. Friendships such as ours are not easily broken down, and although you said you will not miss me, we both know that will never be the truth. You may be able to go through the motions of what others believe your life should be, and you may be able to convince yourself for a time that you have left me behind. When you least expect my return is when it will occur. I suggest you prepare yourself for the inevitability of reentering the darkness, Will. That is where I will be waiting for you.

Faithfully Yours,

_Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

February 15th

From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter   
Letter unsent

Dear Doctor Lecter,

I have let the day of Saint Valentine come and go before I responded to this letter. Like the other, it will live at the bottom of my drawer, tucked in a place where it can cause the least harm to me and to those you have touched. You delude yourself if you believe I will go out of my way to make contact with you. I’m doing my best to forget that period of my life. You may think that a foolish endeavor, especially if you knew that I am responding to your letters, but I find this to be more helpful therapy than any other you provided. Perhaps, you will not find me a broken man when next we meet, if we are so unlucky that it is unavoidable.

I am sorry that you find yourself uncomfortable in your current surroundings, though not sorry enough to do anything about it. You surprise me with the stock you put in a holiday that is used primarily to guilt others in professing emotions they don’t feel, but are more inclined to do so because the world dictates there is a day that they should. It is unlike you to give in to such sentiment. If we were to take on ancient identities, I could see you in Rome, partaking of the rites of Lupercalia far easier than I could see you playing the hero in any story that required you to make sacrifices that didn’t directly serve your immediate needs. You may see turning yourself in so I can find you as heroic, but I see it as tragic. No longer am I bound to your desires, so to ensure you still have claws in me, you chose to be taken down. It wasn’t to serve any needs but your own, and you and I both know it. You liken us first to Cupid and Psyche, but what gives you the idea that you are the one who underwent any trials to strengthen our bond? I don’t remember you being wrongfully accused of crimes of which you were not guilty, nor do I remember your mind being molded around your baser instincts after fighting so long to repress them. You are Cupid in your scenario; you feel the sting of a single wound, so you lash out with anger and abandon your great love at the time when he needs you the most. Sorrow and Despair were my constant companions after I was deprived of my happy ending, the one that you chose to take from me by taking Abigail’s life. You were angry and you acted impulsively, but it doesn’t change the irrevocable fact that you took something from me that can never be returned.

The likeness to Julia and Saint Valentine is closer, but still doesn’t hit the mark. You are not a saint, and although you may have cured my blindness to the true nature of who I am, you did not do it for any reasons other than to further your own goals. I am still uncertain as to what the end will bring, or if you were just bored and wanted to see what would happen if you gave me an unobstructed view of my own darkness. I know that you will also have to accept the changes I’ve made to who you are before we will ever be able to forgive one another. What would you toast me with, Hannibal? Would it be champagne, or the blood of another one of your victims that I couldn’t save, because I am too much like you now to ever hope to save anybody? You speak of romance, but I’m still unconvinced that you do anything but for your own amusement. I have doubts that you are capable of love, as nothing you have done to or for me has proven otherwise.

I was impressed by the display you left in the Cappella. I would not use the term “enjoyment” to describe how it made me feel, but it left me with an emotion that felt akin to discovering that God is truly listening. I believe they call it awe. I was in awe of the lengths you went to in order to ensure I understood how you thought you were feeling. I left you with a broken heart, so you broke a body to show me what I’ve done. As always, you have never taken responsibility in what has transpired between us, but used violence as a means of communication when other methods would have sufficed. I wonder if you will ever learn that this is not the only way you can talk to me and have me understand you.

I meant it when I said I forgive you. I wouldn’t take it back, not then and not now. It seemed prudent to try and dissuade the Commendatore from chasing his Il Monstro, but he wouldn’t let me help him in the way he truly needed it. Instead, he foolishly followed the footsteps you left in a place you no longer existed, not really. I knew you were still there, but I also understood that I would never capture you unless you chose it. And you are right. While I forgave you long ago, it doesn’t mean that I didn’t wish to harm you, which you found out when we finally laid eyes upon one another. I also discovered that your forgiveness gave you the desire to consume me utterly, but once again, you did not get your wish. Is it difficult, knowing that you’ve been thwarted at every turn with your attempts to destroy me, or does it just make me more interesting to you as you once promised you would become to me? I will give you credit there; you did become interesting.

I was not attempting to capture you for Pazzi. If he wanted you, he would have to apprehend you himself. It was never my desire to see you in a cage. There are some things on this earth that are too wild to be kept safely behind bars. I still believe that you can do more harm locked up than if you could move freely through the world. Cornered creatures have a tendency to lash out at their captors and I don’t believe Alana and Doctor Chilton have the strength of character to survive a full on attack from you. Do you believe that the outcome of our encounter would have been different had I managed to come into contact with you while we were in the catacombs, rather than our meeting in Uffizi? I don’t. I would have tried to harm you. I may have met with more success, but it would have only bred more regret had you taken the damage I sought to inflict. I don’t think Jack will ever find it within himself to forgive you the betrayal of trust of your fabricated friendship, even if you were able to light a candle for him in Palermo. If you are lucky, you will never be forced to find out what he wants to transpire between you two should he ever have a chance to be alone with you. The damage he inflicted in Italy pales in comparison to what he wishes upon you.

I still miss Abigail. You believe the only way for me to understand that you control the teacups is by you wielding the power of her life. You had the ability to both bring the teacup together and to shatter it. You made the decision to harm her while you were emotionally compromised, but I believe her death took something from you, equal to what it took from me. The piece of you that held out hope for Mischa’s return healed fractionally with her in your life, and you removed it when you bled her out. While my decisions and betrayal may have been a catalyst, you are still solely to blame for her death. I would like to believe I am capable of forgiveness for this action. I hope to god it’s true. I can’t hate you forever for it, not if I’m honest. But I want to. I hope you can understand that.

I remember many of the meals we shared, but I remember the Ortolans more than I remember that first breakfast. Your delight in the preparation of such a cruel dish was an interesting peek behind the curtain of who you truly are, and one that you didn’t permit prior to that meal. If I think about it though, I can recall in detail the food you served for our first breakfast together. I remember how it tasted, and the surprise I felt at what an incredible cook you are. I would not have guessed what you were serving, not then. I may have felt horror for the meal at the time, but I have since learned that you only view humans as another meal, and therefore truly beneath your notice when you aren’t hungry. There can be no true distaste in food unless it isn’t cooked to your preferences. Perhaps this shift in perception will keep you proud of what you have created.

I don’t often look up when I’m out late at night, but you are right. We share the same night sky from miles apart. I could list the constellations for you in a letter if I chose, but I don’t know if it would make you feel more caged than you already perceive yourself to be. The stars are beautiful, a powerful reminder of our connection, even given our varied circumstances. I often feel as trapped as you are in reality. I don’t know who I am yet, not without you at my side, and I hate it. I hate that I have lost myself, and I can’t find my own purpose in the heavens without the realization that your purpose is also written within. Perhaps this is why you remain so convinced that we will meet again.

I may spare you many thoughts, but I will do what I can to avoid them coming to the surface of my consciousness, not unless I’m writing you these letters. This has proven to be an adequate outlet that prevents me from reaching for you. I do not know if we were ever truly friends, but we are far beyond any restrictions that come with the term. I know I will never be what I could be with you by my side, and because we are so bound, I can’t truly live without you. You are the dark spot amidst the brightness being free of you has become. I refuse to let the darkness grow, unless I want to be wholly consumed, and as much as you want it, I have no intention of being your meal.

Will Graham


	3. April

April 9th

Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

My Dearest Will,

Did you think that I had given up on corresponding with you? Perhaps you wished it given your state of silence. Were you concerned for me, fearful of what may have become of me since I did not reach out to you for more than a month? Have no fear. I am quite resilient, even with the challenges I face within my confinement. A simple misunderstanding occurred since my last letter. There was an incident with a grad student who came to speak with me. When I didn’t take kindly to his inane testing or his line of questioning, we instead had a lengthy discussion about his mother. I believe the poor fellow went home and murdered her, but the details were not passed along to me. Alana thinks that if I know my range of influence over those around me, it will only serve to make me more dangerous. If you ever find out the details of that poor boy, would you please let me know? I’m curious as to how he’s faring amongst the criminals he sought to study.

As a result of my supposed crimes, my privileges, as I am told they are, were revoked. That included penning these letters to you, which I found to be a much greater loss than that of my books and drawings. I have since regained my status as a result of good behavior, but they have yet to send another sheep into my midst. I believe they wish to starve my baser tendencies, but they have yet to discover how patient I can be. Predators have the tendency to gorge themselves to survive the long winter, and while my winter may be upon me, eventually they’ll let down their guard and it will be time to feast once again. 

While I have been in stasis, I have taken to perusing the halls of my memory palace for your own acts of righteous violence. Do you remember the day you displayed Randal Tier’s body for me to see, after I had sent him to your doorstep in the visage of what his mind conceived to be the ultimate killing machine? You destroyed him as easily as he destroyed those people he chose to chase down. You told me the act was intimate. I do hope that to be the truth. Tell me. Did you look him in the eyes as the light left them? Did he panic, knowing that he would soon no longer walk the earth? Did he seem to resent you for being the one to best him, or did he take some relief in the knowledge that there was finally someone to put an end to what he was doing? I remember the conversation I had with him not long before I set him on your scent. I visited him at the museum without the escort of the FBI. What I had to say to him was not for anyone’s ears but his, as they would not have understood what needed to happen to stop him. It does not seem to be common knowledge amongst your peers that the easiest way to stop a killing spree is to send the killer after a better killer. Perhaps, if you still lecture for the Bureau, this is a subject you might want to include in your future teachings. It has proven true for both of us, hasn’t it?

Do you remember when I cleaned your hands after we discussed your destruction of what Randall Tier had become? This moment, while you explained the intimacy of killing him with your bare hands, showed me how much I crave a different kind of intimacy with you, Will. While I have long wished to cultivate your becoming, I would very much like to see what would be between us if you did not fight so hard to keep us apart. Not just physically, of course, but if you allowed your mind and mine to meld, what would be the result? Perhaps you choose not to see what has already grown, but it would be remiss of you to deny the possibility that perhaps the reason we react as we do to one another is because we are the same. Darkness seeks darkness and not all of it wishes to rend your flesh and tear into bone. The darkness can also be tender and merciful, should you choose to let it. When we meet again, it may be prudent to choose a different direction for our future endeavors together. Deny it if you must, but we will meet again. What will become of us when we do? I believe that is very much up to how much of yourself you have chosen to accept. Now that you no longer have the opportunity for such close encounters with the things that wish you harm, do you find yourself fading? Will you ever be as alive as you were without bringing about the destruction of those around you? Can you taste their meat on your tongue, Will? Does it bring you joy to know that you survived because were faster and stronger? Do not wither and fade without me. I do not wish to find you unfit for our next adventures, wherever they may lead us. Perhaps we will visit your creature within the catacombs of the Lecter estate. Perhaps, the bones of Paris would suit us better.

I think upon those times I spent in my office while you were held captive in my current location. Your accommodations were perhaps not as comfortable as mine, but the surroundings and company were much the same; tiresome and boring. I would often sit in my chair across from where you should be seated, contemplating my notes as I craved the sound of your voice. You always had the ability to fascinate me, Will. Your mind is equally the darkest and brightest space I have managed to infiltrate, and while I miss my ability to subtly manipulate your reactions and the outcome, I miss more your ability to surprise me at every turn. As soon as I felt I had a grasp on how you would react to particular stimuli, you managed to change the game enough that I had to rethink my strategy, and combat the hurdles between us from entirely unthought of directions. I have not contemplated the idea of friendship in many years, yet you came along and smashed through my careful structure like a bullet train, destroying any semblance of order I possessed. When in Italy, Bedelia brought to the surface of my mind the possibility that my feelings for you are beyond a simple fascination, but incline towards the same force of emotion that I felt for Mischa. I will contemplate this in my time here, and when we meet again, I may be able to provide myself and you with a definitive answer to her accusations.

I hope that one day, you will cease the tedious game you choose to play by ignoring me. I know that we are not whole without the other, and I long to see words on paper in your writing. I know that you may resent me for opening the door to your transformation, but once it’s begun, you cannot stop it. You may be currently choosing to let yourself suffocate amidst the mundane, but you only need a spark. When you come for me, it will be an inferno, and the man standing in your place will have risen from the ashes of who you used to be. I can only hope we do not burn eachother beyond recognition as we traverse the path to your becoming.

When your life becomes too orderly, remember that chaos can be found within yourself, locked away in the knowledge of who you are meant to be. When you are ready to face the truth, come back to me.

Until that time, I will always remain faithfully yours,

_Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

April 16th

From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter   
Letter unsent

Hello Again Hannibal,

While I told myself that familiarity made these letters more difficult to write, it has occurred to me in their absence that it does not matter how I address you. The feelings we share will be there, no matter what I choose to call you. I had begun to wonder if you had perhaps earned the ire of one of the resident psychiatrists there, and I made a discreet inquiry to your wellbeing. Alana ensured me that you are still alive and physically unharmed, but that your sharp wit and biting tongue had stretched its influence once again beyond the normal walls of sanity and into the malleable mind of a student yet unlearned in protecting himself from your special brand of manipulation. I am not surprised you have managed to get yourself in a bind so soon, and I can only hope that you understand and appreciate the precautions others have chosen to now place around you. They have discovered the man previously thought of as declawed is still a lion with teeth after all. I was relieved to hear that you did not come to harm, but I won’t feed into your desires for information about the destruction you have caused. It will starve you a bit, no matter how patient you may be. Starvation may do you some good.

I remember many things about Randall, primarily the truth that you brought upon him a fate worse than being caught by the FBI and brought to justice. You fed him to my righteous fury, handed him over like a side dish for Sunday dinner. While you may not have expected the level of creativity in which I chose to display my kill, you knew very well the outcome he faced should you choose to pit him against me. It never ceases to amaze me how little you truly care for those who were under your psychiatric supervision. I would think there would be some kind of investment involved, but you seem to use everyone around you as a chess piece, the only difference being the ranking in which you give us. I know you saw Randall as a pawn, but I’d be curious to know the pecking order of the others you’ve encountered. Is Alana a brave knight? Is Doctor Chilton a pawn? What about Jack? I know where you want me, the queen protecting his king, but I fear I must tell you that if this were a game of chess, we would be on opposing sides. Sending Randall into my midst was the best way to ensure his demise, but you should count yourself lucky that the origin of his becoming is known to me and me alone. A killer can hunt a killer, much as predators turn upon one another when starving. You let us both starve as you feasted on our torment. Now is my chance to ensure you understand what it is to be hungry.

There was a certain kind of intimacy that came with using my bare hands to bring about Randall’s death. You know that I did not see his face as I beat him, but my mind superimposed your visage in his place. In reality, each time I took a life, I imagined it was yours. I have killed you in a variety of ways, but none so intimate as the fate Randall suffered. Laying the spoils of my kill upon your table only enhanced the intimacy of the moment. What you crave between us will never come to fruition because I can never trust you enough to allow my guard to come down. A tiger may be beautiful when you are separated from it by glass, but if you brought down the barrier, it would tear out your throat. You have shown me that darkness can be both terrible and beautiful, and I have allowed myself to come to the realization that while I cannot deny that I crave my time with you, I also crave my sanity, something you tried very hard to wrest from my grip. The two are mutually exclusive. I cannot have peace with you at my side, and eventually our souls crave stability. You are like a natural disaster; an act of god brought down upon the world to show us how precious and fleeting our lives truly are. You were correct when you expressed the notion that we are only at our greatest when our mortality is realized. You represent a kind of death to me, the destruction of who I am so you can make me into who you want me to be. I can’t bring myself to want what you have in store for me, Hannibal. No matter how I crave the dark, I must lean into the light. It is the only thing that will save me from you.

I wish you could understand that what I do is not ignoring you, but saving myself from you. This is not a game, but my life and how I choose to live it. There will never come a time when some part of me doesn’t wish to reach for you, hoping upon all hope that my needs are met with understanding and passion. I know you well enough that the kindling of which you speak, that spark that will burn away what is left of the old me, would consume me utterly. You do not wish to simply remake what is there, you wish to destroy it utterly, and reform something from the debris. I can’t let myself desire what you want from me, for if I do, the path will always be filled with darkness. If we ever do burn though, we will burn together or not at all. I will not risk my own destruction if you are able to survive the experience and come out unchanged. Should the catalyst ever ignite, we will be changed together, each shaped into what the other requires. I don’t believe you understand that you will also not be who you were. If you did, you would not reach through the cage bars for me.

When you can face that fact, perhaps it will be time to light the fire. We can only hope there is enough of us left to rebuild.

Will Graham


	4. May

May 3rd

Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Dear Will,

I am currently unsteady on my footing, metaphorically speaking, of course. I seem to have misplaced my emotional balance, particularly pertaining to you. I do not know if I should continue to address you by terms of endearment as I have been doing up to this point, or if my affection is crashing haplessly against the wall of indifference you seem to have surrounding you. When we first met, you spoke of building forts; I believe at this time, you are constructing a castle with high walls and an impenetrable bailey. Perhaps you have even included a moat and filled it with something venomous. You have become unreachable to me by your own means, at least at this time. I must say, I never thought to find you tedious, but you are proving yourself to be just that. When will you come to terms with the truth of what we are to one another? Childishly ignoring my attempts to reach out to you won’t hold forever. Eventually, by means likely to be completely out of your control, you will be forced to come calling. Have no doubt that my cooperation will hinge, in part, on your communication with me during these difficult times. What would you do if I were to ignore your pleas for assistance, which you will be forced to make when you come back to me? You may only need to get a grip on your old sense of self, but should you continue to deny me what I so desperately desire, I will deny you the peace you may get from being with me again. Choose Wisely, Will. I will not continue to offer you the option forever.

I do not have much a chance to be in the light of day; my only indication to the changing seasons shines through the skylight so cleverly erected above me. It offers me solace; a reminder of a world that exists beyond my four walls. A cage, no matter how comfortable, is still a place designed to hold one captive. I was not meant to live under such conditions for extended periods of time. I already feel the outside world calling me to return. Do you believe it is possible for me to feel the wind on my face again? The heat of the summer approaches. I can feel the oppressive temperatures for a short time, but I can smell the changes in the seasons clinging to the clothing of those who visit me. Summer smells differently; sunshine and bee pollen, floral scents that are unavailable any other time of the year. The fruits of spring. I enjoy them as they waft into my space, but I do miss the smells of winter. I miss the snow and rain, the smell of pine and firelight. These are the scents most ingrained into my memory; the olfactory delights that assailed me when I was taken into custody. I hope to once again experience such things as a free man. I am aware it may take time, but I am unconcerned of the fact. I can be a patient man when I know the prize will be worth the wait.

I have been thinking upon the concept of friendship, a term you once told me would never encompass the relationship you and I share. As much as I loathe to admit it, I am beginning to agree with you; friendship may be too mild a term for what we have become to one another. I do not believe we ever discussed what brought about my desire to explore the institution of friendship with you. Do you remember Tobias? I’m sure he’s as difficult for you to forget as he is for me, although I’d like to think my interactions with him were far more… intimate than yours were. I discussed with Bedelia my desire to attempt a friendship after I spoke with him, understanding that he and I had much in common. It was never him that I desired closeness with, though. That was always you. Since you have come into my sphere of existence, we have been inexorably thrown together by outside influences, drawn into paths much darker than those the common human ever experiences throughout his lifetime. We have thrived in such situations, proven victorious, especially when we have one another to hold us accountable to ensuring a positive outcome. We may not come through our experiences unscathed; I believe the changes that have come upon us serve to bring us closer. Do you recall my drawing of Achilles and Patroclus? As they did, we often emerge from the fires of the trials set before us together; we are meant to continue as such. I have not given up on your acceptance yet. I will not do so until my last breath. I have faith that you may yet come to understand how entwined our lives are, how the blood of our battles unites us. I know you will be with me in the end, regardless of your denial.

Do you remember the Silvestri case on which Jack thought he had caught the man responsible for my killings? You have to admit, Jack often incorrectly sought to assign blame to my crimes, but this was perhaps the instance that was the most humorous to me. I had the opportunity to observe the blunders of the FBI firsthand, watch as they failed to believe what you tried in vain to tell them; this man was content to use my crimes as a screen in a poor attempt to cover his own misguided and ham-handed attempts at making money to pay for medical school, but he couldn’t possibly have the finesse you identified in my own killings. I always considered your assessments of my work to be amongst the highest compliments I received. 

I am getting sidetracked. 

Devin Silvestri. I saw the look on your face when I had the life of another in my hands, Will. I know you saw in me the potential for us to be more. You have always needed someone in your life that is unafraid to take the steps necessary to both preserve and eradicate life, should the situation ever present itself. You need someone who is capable of making the decision to do so, someone who has the skill set to both harm and heal. The look in your eyes when our gazes met proved to me that you needed me as much as I want you. That has not changed; you need me, Will. You want me, too. You would not have spent so much time scouring the old world for me if you planned to leave me confined within the bowels of the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane for what remains of my life. You may not know it yet, but we shall be forever tied together by that red string the fates often dole out to the unsuspecting. We are meant for greatness, you and I. You will not truly live until we are together again. You may find yourself in a kind of comfortable stasis, but your life will not be your own unless you live it with me.

My feelings towards you have proven to be most inconvenient. I often find you in places I do not wish you to be. I have never truly freed myself from your clutches. Those who believe it was I who lead you astray do not really see you. If they did, they would understand that the darkness that resides in me simply reflects what is already there. I did not create it, merely provided an environment and circumstances in which it could thrive. Do not deny yourself the chance to be who you are forever. When you no longer feel that need, that desire to be what others wish of you, you will need to return to the deep.

Do you find me interesting still?

Faithfully yours,  
 _Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

May 22nd 

From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter   
Letter unsent

Hello Hannibal,

I still adamantly refuse to address these letters with any kind of fond familiarity, as I do not wish you to think that I still hold an emotional attachment to you, even if you are not reading what I white. I do not, nor will I ever admit to doing so. We are not enemies, but as I once told you, nor are we friends. I thought once that we could be, but the longer we are apart, the more I understand your manipulations for what they were. I do not yet know if I will ever be completely free of your influences, but I can try to be. You are still failing to see, as you so often do, the true predicament you have gotten yourself into. I know very well why you allowed yourself to be captured, and so do you. You could not live with the idea that we would have no means of communication. You couldn’t convince me to leave with you, so you created an environment where we would be linked by, not only our experiences, but those in our company as well. You’d be sad to know that Doctor Chilton and I rarely run into one another now. I no longer work for the Bureau, and have no desire to seek him out. Alana feels haunted by my presence and goes out of her way to avoid me by any means possible. It is only in the gravest of circumstances that she darkens my door. She doesn’t yet understand that we haunt eachother; it is not just her that feels the pull. 

You can write your letters, casting your net into the ocean of emotional turmoil that was created in the time we spent together. That is easy enough for you. The ocean, and thus the world are vast places, though. I have a better chance of escaping your snares when I am free and you are not. You may choose to believe that all it will take is the right catalyst to bring us within our places together, and you might be right. Right now, in times of such uncertainty, I can simply choose to stay away from you, and the pain of what we were lessens. You have only your memories. You will find no real distraction there. I am free to make new memories, here in the world where you once existed at my side. I can bury you as if you have passed, grieve who I was when I was with you. I can also move past my grief and regret and make something else of myself. I don’t believe you have that option. For that, I am almost grateful.

You’ll be happy to know that you aren’t missing much as far as the weather goes. It’s shaping up to be another hot summer. If our positions were reversed, as they once were, I would miss the summer rains more than I would miss the smell of blooming vegetation. There’s something comfortably contemplative in the rain as it falls. The air smells better, cleaner when we have a downpour. All the shit we kick up just being human seems to settle, the world becomes a little brighter when the sun shines. You’ll be able to hear it against your skylight, I’m sure. Perhaps, you’ll even catch the scent when those who surround your cage come in from the deluge. It would be a terrible existence if you didn’t get to experience the best of what the world has to offer. 

I want to be clear. I never wanted you in a cage, Hannibal. I don’t believe that you have no influence upon the world while you are there. I have heard the stories pouring out from your corner of existence already. It wasn’t just the grad student you sent towards his own demise. You’re becoming quite the Bogeyman. I don’t believe society is best served with you behind bars. I don’t know how that will ever change; Frederick is determined to keep you as a pet as long as he is in charge of the hospital. With his book deal after your plea, that may prove to be quite some time, especially if it does well. Should you ever be set free, I worry for humanity and the havoc you’ll wreak as retribution. That is a problem for the day it may come to fruition, and I will continue to build towers around myself to help hide the pain your absence has left. Don’t worry. I will heal. Eventually, the hole will close. I can only continue to move forward as I wait.

I have often thought upon our relationship, especially during my time in the care you are now receiving, as well as the times I was awake in the hospital after you delivered the pain filled reminder that I would not be on this earth if you didn’t wish it so. The cut proved to be more effective than anything you’d deem a kindness. I now understand that when you tried to frame me, it was because you wanted to see if I’d fight for my life, fight until my last breath. When I proved my resilience, you wanted more from me than I was willing to give you, and in my attempts to ensnare you with my own cleverness, I became bound to you in ways I still don’t fully understand. I yearn for your company, and did even when I sought you out in Italy, intent on returning the favor of your forgiveness with my own visceral reminder carved into your flesh. When you decided you were going to eat me, I can’t say I was surprised, nor do I believe your remorse was faked. You would have missed me dearly, should you have succeeded with your plans. You say I collect scars on the outside; that may be true. You, however, collect feelings you didn’t know you were capable of experiencing. You hold them within, and lash out with them when you become insecure or have a need to be noticed. You rain down blood and plant clever clues that all point to the same conclusion. You are as incapable of controlling your emotional attachment to me as I am incapable of denying it. We are quite the pair, you and I.

The Silvestri case was an interesting one, I’ll admit. I had never seen you in the role of holding life in your hands, nor did I know that you were capable of crushing life without another thought. I thought you compassionate and capable at the time. You’d prove to me later that you are a monster incapable of feeling anything resembling such positive emotions for another person from whom you are not seeking attention. I believe, even to this day, that you were not thinking as the Chesapeake Ripper at the time, or even as Hannibal Lecter. You were inspired to fulfill a role, one that required you to save a life to play it to its fullest potential. Had that man existed, we would be much closer to Achilles and Patroclus than just the drawing you created with our likenesses. I have dark parts inside me which I still have to come to terms with. You’ve let the darkness consume you. If fate binds us, time will eventually bring us back together. I may be as powerless to resist you believe me to be. I may also outgrow my need for you; that need that fuels my own path through the dark. 

As to your question? I have found you interesting from the first case we worked together, but I don’t find you necessary. If that is to change, time is the final indicator. I hope, for both our sakes, that I can leave you where you are, and walk into the light, as I was before you found me. I can only hope, even if it’s my least favorite four letter word. Do not look for me, Hannibal. I will not come to your beckoning. I will only walk through that door if forced.

Will Graham


	5. June

June 15th

  
Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

My Dearest Will,

I must confess, I thought about attempting to maintain the distance you so clearly wish between us, simply by addressing each of my letters with a less familiar greeting, but I find I cannot do it. I am once again feeling drawn to you in ways I don’t believe I want to understand, for to do so would give name to the emotions I feel, and names can be dangerous things. My reaction towards you is almost as surprising as my desire for physical proximity. I am coming to understand that it will take time for you to come to the realization of what we are to be, and I must be patient, no matter how thin it wears. I never thought I would admit it, especially on paper, but I have come to miss the scent of your aftershave, although I still hold to the truth that it was an affront to the olfactory senses. It is because it was on you, with your own unique scent underneath the travesty you placed upon it, that I have grown fond. The looks you used to give me that teetered somewhere between need and disgust? I miss them as much as I miss the conversations that we had in my office, the sound of your voice as it echoes through time and space, stretching and changing depending on the moment in which it is heard. I don’t think you realize how much we have become to one another until you tried to hunt me down in Italy. If it’s any comfort to you, I had no real desire to kill you, even when I was going to eat you. Even if I had not given myself over to the police, I would miss you were you no longer amongst the living. To whom would I pen these letters, if not to you?

Along those lines, I have come to another inevitable conclusion, one that may only be to preserve my own sanity as I pace these four walls. I will no longer continue my emotional outbursts where you are concerned, for suppression will bring me more satisfaction that admission seems to. My desire for your attention is lacking in dignity, and your refusal to respond is growing tiresome. 

As the heat of summer continues to pound down upon us (no so much me, as I am relegated to my cell, minus what minuscule glimpses of outside I receive from my skylight), I find myself thinking about passion. What it is, what it makes us do, how it affects the day to day lives of so many. The term “crimes of passion” is endlessly fascinating, isn’t it? I have found myself seeking out amongst my memories your moments with Clark Ingram when he emerged from the horse in which he was sewn. I know that you believe that Peter deserved justice for what his social worker tried to do to him, but would you have been able to live with yourself had I allowed you to pull the trigger and end Mr. Ingram’s life? Would you be able to live with my lack of interference, or would it be one more item on the checklist for which you hold me at least partially accountable? Did you feel some kinship with Peter, the realization that you had been manipulated into your actions, much as he was? I will keep my promise to you, and continue to tell you the truth. Clark Ingram and I are not cut from the same cloth. He wanted to absolve himself of the guilt of his sins. I wanted to see how far I could push you before you pulled the trigger. You have yet to disappoint me, even if that does not please you.

These memories have also brought to the forefront of my mind the idea of transformation. The horse, the bird and the dead woman in particular, not to mention what would have become of you the day Clark Ingram was discovered to be testing the waters of your patience with what he did to your good friend Peter. I have always been curious. Did you choose to call him a friend because he was as broken as you perceive yourself to be? Had I allowed you to emerge from your chrysalis at that time, would your nature be more savage than what you have allowed it to become? What will it take for your full transformation, your ‘becoming’ as we have so fondly come to call it, to take place? We are both painfully aware, even if you stubbornly choose to keep your realization from the forefront of your mind, that it won’t occur without both of us present, as I seem to be your dark catalyst; the voice coaxing you forth from your hibernation to be as you are. True, you would not be so close to the dark without me, but you already had a foot on the pathway. I just illuminated it for you.

You had two lives in your hands in rapid succession, but you only took one of those lives. Both were either placed in your path or prevented by me, which leads me to believe that I hold the power of your choices. How did it feel to hold Mr. Ingram’s life in your hands with a gun pointed in his direction, especially when compared to the intimacy of tearing apart Randall Tier? I wonder if we would have been together in Italy if I had allowed you the death of both men, versus sending one of those men to kill you. I don’t believe you ever truly understood that I never really meant to harm you physically. I was whetting your appetite for the carnage to come, but you weren’t being honest with me even then, were you? Yes, you were telling me the truth when I asked if you meant to kill me, but you never wanted what I offered you with what I perceived our friendship to be. Had I given you the chance to escape with me, even if I would have forgiven you your trespasses and managed not to kill Abigail, would you have followed me as you should have, or would you be exactly where you are now, on the outside looking in?

Where is your anger now, Will? Has it abandoned you, now that I am so far out of your reach? It cannot possibly be as simple as ‘out of sight, out of mind’. That would be the biggest disappointment I’ve so far suffered if that is the case. Where is your reckoning for what you perceive I’ve done to you? Did it wash away in the blood of your forgiveness, just as God sacrificed his son to cleanse the world of sin? Or are you planning a church collapse of your own? Have you no desire to see my blood pool, the light leave my eyes forever, even knowing that I would have done the same to you, even if I would have grown to regret it? I once told you that life isn’t lived unless we have regrets, and I still believe that to be true. I would also say that some regrets are too large for us to live with, too full of promise to go unfulfilled, and with those regrets, we live a far less fulfilled existence. There is balance to all things; you can have too much light, just as you can have too much darkness. I fear your need for light will be the thing that condemns you, keeps you fractured throughout whatever you choose to do. You need the darkness, Will. Jack needs you to need it; that’s why he pushed so hard for your return to the field. He wants to keep your mind sharp, our Jack does. He’s not finished with you yet, just as you aren’t finished with me. You may think you are safe, but when you least expect it, we will both come for you. I hope you keep a tenuous grasp on who you were. If you don’t, you may not survive the second coming.

Please visit me when you are ready. I will not tell you I miss you again, for the letters currently in your possession have already illustrated it to be fact. I will not continue to abase myself in hopes of the favor of your physical presence. Know that when the time comes, I will hold the amount of time we spend apart against you. Make it soon, Will, or you will live to regret it.

Faithfully Yours,

_Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

June 30th

  
From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter  
Letter unsent

Hello Hannibal,

Your letters are becoming as tedious as you claim I am being by not responding to you. I wonder now what you would do if you knew of the letters that I write back, and that I avoid sending them to you to keep you from having any ammunition. You may hold the gun, but it does far less damage if it isn’t loaded. Your greetings have an effect on me much as they affect you to write them. I’m not sure how I feel, or if that feeling is either positive or negative. I believe I can make those feelings inert if I continue to not react. As with our other interactions throughout the years, they can only have the bearing I allow them. I would be curious to know what emotion you’d choose to attach to your feelings for me. I daresay it would be one I would suggest you are incapable of feeling, even though I’ve wondered. You are never far from my thoughts, even if they are not always good. I still use the same aftershave, and yes, it has a ship on the bottle. I know you have always wondered, and now that thought can finally be laid to rest. I find the scent comforting in its familiarity these days, maybe because of how much you hate it. As far as the looks I used to give you, does it surprise you to know that it’s likely that I have the same look on my face as I read the words you choose to pen? You are trying to trap me, and I know it. I can’t seem to keep myself off the hook. I want to respond to you, so I resist in the only way I know how. Although I write to you, I do not have the letters delivered. It brings me satisfaction to know that you don’t get to know my responses for a change.

I don’t know if I believe that you had no real desire to kill me, likely several times although for different reasons. When we met, you wanted to see how hard I would fight for my life, so you let everyone believe that your killings were mine. Although you eventually rescued me from the web you created, you didn’t expect me to come back to you. When I did and you found out that it was my own lure, a trap to ensure that everyone would see you for what you are, you fought harder than I ever have to retain your freedom. You killed Abigail to punish me, you cut me so I would pay the price of my betrayal, but you also left me alive because you couldn’t stand the thought of a world without me in it, much as I can’t be in a world without you. It’s safer with you being where you are, but not completely without your influence. I am not the same man I was before I met you, for better or for worse. When I came for you in Italy, I do not know if I could have killed you. I may have given you a scar to match my own if Chiyoh had not chosen to interfere, but even with that, I don’t think I could ever cause you the kind of physical harm you seem incapable of preventing yourself from committing. You would have eaten me if you hadn’t been interrupted, but you would have regretted it. You can’t be separated from me Hannibal, any more than I can be completely free of you. We are truly conjoined in a way soulmates are tied together. The more we fight the current, the tighter it will bind us in the end. I will still fight, because I am without the option of proximity to you, and I can fight until my last breath. I don’t know if I will be successful forever, but I can choose to be apart from you for a time, if only to rediscover the light you think I reach for.

I yearn for the summer to be gone as well, but I fear it is just beginning. The temperature has already gotten above comfortable. I wonder if the mundane would interest you now, knowing that it’s something you don’t experience, or if it would come to bore you. If it interested you, I’d tell you that I currently have a trickle of sweat tracing it’s way down my spine that’s far more irritating than it has the right to be. I can feel it mid back, and there is nothing I can do to stop its trek down my body. The heat is oppressive as always, and makes people crazy. There will be a new string of murders soon, as there always is when temperatures reach their peak. I hope that Jack can handle them. He is still refusing to speak with me since Italy. I am not unhappy with this arrangement. 

Crimes of passion… would you identify what happened between us as passionate? Is that where you are going with this? I don’t know if that’s true, because it wasn’t passion that caused our behavior, not at the time it occurred. I still regret not killing Clark Ingram. I know that he will rot in a cell for the rest of his days, but it seems too good a fate for a man like him, especially because he was so dispassionately able to tear apart another to hide his crimes. A bullet would have made a better end for him, and I hold to the belief that you know that, and it’s the reason you stopped me from killing him. You like the idea that you controlled my actions, especially if it is to never occur again. You can revisit the moment of placing your finger before the hammer and thus preventing my shot. It brings you pleasure to be in control, especially when you felt you had no real way of predicting what I would do. Is that why you sent Randall Tier for me? To wind me up and watch me go, see if I would fight for my life? Did you think I would shoot him, put him down as the wild animal he so wanted to be? Or did you know, even then, that I would choose such an intimate way of killing him, much as he deserved? His acts were instinctual and cultivated by you. You never sought to cure him of what he was, you simply chose to bide your time to see what would become of him. In some ways, you are no better than Ingram. I wonder how you would feel, knowing that’s how I see you.

My nature, my emergence in becoming who I will be, would not have been altered by violence against Peter’s oppressor. I would still emerge when it is time to do so, which hasn’t happened yet. You say that I am becoming; you are not incorrect. I am not there yet. I still have time and actions to complete before I become who I really am. I still don’t know who that is, and I don’t believe you do either. I think it scares you to know that I am capable of great violence but still have a conscience and a need to ensure that what I am doing is necessary. I don’t do it for fun, or out of curiosity, not the way you do. I still wonder what your true purpose is for allowing yourself to be detained. I know that we will all come to find out, and when you are no longer in captivity, that there will be a day of your own reckoning. I wonder who will be in your path, and if I will be trying to stop you, or at your side. I still don’t fully understand my emotions towards you. Perhaps I should get a second opinion. Do you think Bedelia would agree to take me on as a patient? I am the only one who understands who you were to her, even though I know she’s faking all of the nonsense she’s using to write her book. She’s not a victim any more than I am. We are survivors; an entirely different category from someone who takes no responsibility for their own emergence from the flames. She chooses to believe it’s all your fault; everything that happened in Italy was your doing. I know her well enough now not to believe that. You are capable of making monsters of us all, but in order for you to be drawn to us, we have to have the monster in us from the start.

I am not an outsider looking in. The only difference in our situations is the size of our perceived cage. Some part of me is still trapped by you and what you have helped me become. I have never been angry, nor have I ever considered you ‘out of sight, out of mind’. You are with me every day of my life, just beneath the surface. You wait for me in my dreams, you are there with me as I wake. I can fight it, and try to most days. But I still respond to your letters, don’t I? I will still have my day of reckoning, Hannibal. Make no mistake about that. I just don’t think you’ll be caught in the wake of it. My only regret is what happened to Abigail. I can live with the rest, and most days, live without the guilt bearing down upon me for her death. Everything else will have to be forgiven, even if I choose to keep away from you. Jack is no longer asking to consult with me, so I can hope that I have driven him away. If he stays out of my path, yours and mine will have no real reason to cross, and I can continue to build a fort around my past.

Should you try and make me beg at some point, you may find that your desire to speak overrides your need for a chance to torment me. Don’t make promises you are unsure of keeping. I will hold out as long as I am able. If the day comes that I need you, then maybe you can convince me to my knees, but somehow, I don’t believe you’ll think to ask.

Will Graham


	6. August

August 11th

Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Will,

Were you answering my letters, I imagine this is the greeting you’d give me. Intimacy of a first name with a hand out for distancing yourself when necessary. No ‘my dear’ to make you feel as if we were once something beyond colleagues to one another. Have you told any of them, Will? Did you tell them what we shared in the time we spent together, the conversations we had and to what they pertained? No, I think not. You wouldn’t want to let anyone else have a glimpse of how truly dark your mind is, especially when you can pretend you live on that side of the line now. I still know better, but I will do what I can to keep up the pretense until you shatter it yourself. 

I have tried to keep from continuing my one sided conversations with you, but I find that if I do not pen the words I wish to speak aloud, I begin to go a little mad. No, not the kind of madness Frederick wrote for his book. We both know that I am not insane, although that’s the plea they’re working with to keep me from capital punishment. Frederick wants me alive to ensure his book sells well. If our esteemed Doctor Chilton really means to go through with writing a fairytale for the entertainment of the public, I will do my best to refute everything he says. They will publish what I write, because it’s coming from me. What better way to poke the bear than to prove him a liar? It will be interesting to see what he does.

Have you heard that Alana has taken to Margot’s bed permanently? She means to carry a child, start a family by producing a true Verger heir. Let’s hope she manages a boy on the first try. It will ensure that they do not have to have more than one life to taint with the blackened name, but will be able to surround themselves with the opulence purchased with Mason’s blood. While I cannot deny that he deserved his fate, probably more than most, it would not do for a child to be brought up with anything less than a loving hand. I hope they’re able to manage to keep the worst from him or her. Stains on a family line are difficult to clean from oneself.

The heat has been unbearable the past month, and I look forward to cooler weather. Already the days are growing shorter, and I cannot wait for a time when they allow me to light a fire in the fireplace with which I have been provided. It will be good for my bones to soak up the warmth of something more substantial than the stifling air coming off of my few visitors in waves. The stench of sweat and fear is overwhelming. I believe I’ve scared off the soft ones. Most who visit me now have been briefed extensively on my persuasive techniques, so they’re far less interesting than they once were. I have yet to decide if I need to punish Alana or Frederick for their intervention and thus the ruination of my entertainment. When I identify the culprit, that person will instead find themselves the focus of my torments. They think that they’ve managed to cage and subdue me, but neither seems to understand that a captive monster can be far more dangerous and poisonous to those around him than if left to his own devices. As my time here continues, we will see how they fare. I shall keep you updated on my progress.

I continue to find you in places I do not expect to see you, Will. It has become disconcerting to be perusing memories of places we did not exist together, only to find you waiting for me. If I were to take a Freudian approach, we both know the conclusion would be it is because I am interested in you sexually. I have thought on this for more hours than I dare admit, and find that there may be some basis in truth amongst the time that we spent together. There were moments when I would have liked to reach for your warmth, for the touch of your skin upon my own, perhaps the taste of your lips. I do not find myself normally attracted to men, so I am sure I repressed these desires unconsciously. We are soul mates, you and I, even though I know you will go out of your way to deny it, even to yourself. My attraction to you has nothing to do with your gender, but with who you are at your core. That kernel of darkness that exists within you is a flame I’d very much like to fan, and I believe that I were given ample time and little to no resistance from you, what we are to one another would become a partnership of which epics could be written. 

We are meant to be more than what we were, but only time will tell if you will come to the inevitable realization. You cannot escape me, much like I can’t escape you, even when it has been months since I’ve so much as heard your voice. They won’t let me watch your court videos anymore. I disturbed those whose careers are being made from my rehabilitation when I laughed at the statements you made regarding my character. You know that what you said wasn’t the whole truth, but refused to allow them into your own mind to give them everything they needed to prove I was of sound mind when I committed my crimes. I do not blame you. I know that eventually, you will pay me back what I have endured for you. That is who we are to one another. Reciprocity has always been part of the game. Just ask Randall Tier.

There’s a question that has been eating at me (no pun intended, of course) for some time now, but each time I pen a letter to you, it seems to slip my mind in favor of ensuring you are made aware of my feelings for you. I have finally remembered during the writing process, so I will ask it now and hope that Jack understands your mindset at the time when he reads it. I have an incredibly refined palate, of which I know you are aware. Therefore, I know the night that you told me we ate Freddie Lounds, we did indeed eat someone, although it was not the slender pig you promised me. I have many questions and observations about that particular meal, but the primary inquiry I have always had is this: If we did not devour Freddie in the manner she so rightly deserves, whose flesh did we consume? Are you willing to tell me the truth of that incident, Will? I did not lie to you. The meat was tainted with fear, so he or she knew that death was eminent. Was this someone whose life ended at your hands in order to fool me into thinking that you had ended the vicious journalistic tirade of our red haired friend, or were you unaware of the person we ingested? I believe the former. I still believe that deep down, you are the apex predator you try so very hard not to be. This is someone you knew intimately.

I don’t know if you are aware, but the look on your face that night was enough to make me want to make you mine for the rest of our days. You were exquisite in your enjoyment of the long pig we shared, beautiful in your savagery. It is a memory I often peruse in the darkest hours of the night, surrounded by the screams of the truly mad. It was evocative, watching you consume the flesh of one thought to be beneath you. You elevated yourself to the cruelty God often displays. Church collapses and culinary delights are equal in their brutality when the same disregard for life is exhibited. 

I often wonder if you were completely unaware of your reactions. If so, it makes it all the more wonderful for me. You don’t understand what a truly rare creature you are, and the belief that you will keep yourself under control is ludicrous at best. You cannot hold back forever, Will. Sooner or later, your beast will overtake you and you will need to act upon those instincts you honed when we were together in my office. I know you enjoy the kill as long as you can believe it was righteous, and eventually you will have to kill again. If you don’t feed your darkness, it will eat you alive. Don’t be a meal, Will. Feed yourself so that you’re thriving when next we meet. You owe yourself that much.

Think upon writing back. The questions I ask are truly consuming my thoughts. It would be nice to have a moment’s peace, no matter how brief. I’m also curious as to how you’re faring during our separation. I sincerely hope you are doing well. I could wish nothing less for you, my friend. Enjoy the respite from your demons while it lasts. You won’t escape them a second time.

Faithfully yours,  
 _Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

August 29th

  
From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter   
Letter unsent

Hello Hannibal,

It’s nice to see that you’ve broken yourself of the habit of being quite so familiar in your greeting. In the end, it may do you some good to distance yourself from the feelings that seem to be issuing forth from inside you. I would have never taken you as the type to be overcome by sentimentality, but I seem to be gleaning more from these letters than I ever did from our conversations. I believe you’re telling the truth, too. You have no reason to hold back for now, and you believe that by playing to my emotions, you’ll keep us close. I have yet to decide if you’re correct. 

Do you honestly want to know if I told Jack and Alana what became of me when I descended into the dark, following after you like a lost puppy? I’ve told them some of it, but not nearly what you’ve disclosed in your letters. They’re coming to understand an entirely new side of me. It’s up to them what they do with the information, but somehow, I think Jack will forgive me. What’s the consumption of one individual compared to the countless cases I closed because of who you both made me become? I pretend nothing, Hannibal. You may think you hold some great secret over my head, but you’d be sorely mistaken. If either of them were to come to me and ask me about the content of your letters, they’d get the unadulterated truth. What you don’t understand is they don’t want to know. They. Don’t. Want. To. Know. My head is filled with horrors they can’t begin to comprehend, and neither of them is prepared to traverse the ghosts within, so I’m safer than you’re imagining. You have nothing to hold over me. You may as well give up on that line of thinking while you’re ahead.

I don’t believe you tried to give up our conversations. The same amount of time has passed from one letter to the next, minus your punishment when the undergraduate killed his mother. You should feel lucky that they got you off on an insanity plea, especially considering Alana would have let you burn had it not been from your willingness to take the blame for Mason. That’s the only thing that saved you when she took the stand. She values the secrets of hers you hold, and right now, those secrets keep you safe. Her patience for your antics is not endless, so tread carefully where Frederick is concerned, even if his book is filled with lies. He wants you right where you are so he can pry apart your mind. He thinks that he will be the one to crack you open. If only he knew that he’s the one with one foot inside the trap, and that only a little more pressure is needed to cut it off. I’m sure he’ll keep pressing, but it would be best to let him hang himself. He doesn’t need your assistance; his arrogance will do it for him.

Alana and Margot deserve one another. You have no right to talk about comforts purchased with blood after the carnage you left in Italy, simply because you wanted a position that was not yours to take. You killed a man because you wanted his job, then another because he did not believe you, a man not born within the borders of Italy, were a worthy candidate to take up the role you coveted. Bedelia has stated that you tried to convince her that the other man’s death was her fault for removing the awl you stabbed into the side of his head. I never thought you’d be one for cheap technicalities, but I am beginning to understand the desperation you must have felt while trying to hold onto those you have manipulated over the years. Bedelia will deserve whatever fate she has coming to her, but I hope you can find it somewhere within yourself to leave Alana and Margot alone. They have already clawed their way from one pit of despair. You do not need to create a second for them.

I was beginning to wonder if you were going to mention the unbearable heat. It’s become almost a comfort that you choose to discuss something as mundane as the weather. As you stated, the days are already growing shorter. The leaves will soon begin to turn color. Perhaps I’ll convince Alana to take you some pictures from around the house so you can be reminded of fonder times, when you were actually welcome in my home. I still can’t make fishing lures. You’ve ruined the hobby for me, which is disappointing. The ones I buy are nowhere near the quality of the ones I used to produce, but between Abigail and the hair you wound into the last ones I made, I can’t bring myself to construct any new ones. I sit at my work table and think about Abigail sometimes. Imagine her beside me as I teach her how to tie a fly. I still miss her, Hannibal. I still don’t want her to be dead. It hurts, and the wound is taking it’s time to close. I still hate you a little for it, but I suspect that will fade with time. We shall see.

I often find you in places I don’t expect to find you, in memories that don’t belong to you. I’m sure the level of discordance is equal to what you experience when it happens to you. Fuck Freud, I don’t believe it’s repression that allows me to find you there. I am still mourning your loss, and my mind chooses to deal with that loss by inserting you into the cracks in my memory. I don’t think you’re truly interested in me sexually. I don’t think you’ve ever been interested in anyone, not really. An exchange of relief, yes, but a perpetual connection that doesn’t have some ulterior motive? That isn’t something even I can imagine. We may be conjoined, but soul mates is pushing it. We have yet to escape the net that the other has cast, but given enough time and energy, even the best snares can be escaped. I cannot bring myself to believe that you care for me, let alone have any kind of interest in me beyond taking me apart. Please do not insult me by assuming that admissions you don’t truly understand will bring any underlying feelings I may have to the surface and prompt a similar confession. I will not tell you how I feel, because you will never be capable of understanding it. Hell, I don’t understand it half the time. What I do know with utter certainty, is that you do not deserve for me to feel as I do. It would be better for both of us if I could hate you. I have often prayed for it. Even if I can’t, it doesn’t mean I will grow to love you. That is asking too much of me. Expect resistance until I can no longer draw breath. I will not delude myself into believing you could feel something for me, so your continued efforts and admissions will be wasted.

Funny that you mention Randall Tier, reciprocity and the meal we shared, all within a paragraph. I’m surprised at you, Hannibal. You’re usually better at connecting the dots. Did it not occur to you that I may have lied about the gender of our meal, simply to ensure you believed it to be Freddie? You were right about one thing. The rude make excellent meals, and there is nothing more uncouth than attempting to kill the canine companions of the man you are hunting. The long pig you ate was, indeed, slender. But he was not female, nor was he a journalist. We consumed parts of my most intimate kill. It seemed a good way to ensure the life I felt surge through me when he died stayed with me. I chose not to display all of Randall for a reason, and it isn’t because I kept part of him as a trophy. We needed meat, and I needed you to believe it was Freddie we were consuming. You stated that fear taints the meat, makes it bitter. I didn’t lie to you when I said he was bitter about being dead. Randall did not want to die. He was trying to make himself into the apex predator you believe me to be. He didn’t understand until it was too late, that you sent him to a man who only needed a target for his own darkness. You sent him to me knowing I would kill him. If we follow your logic, you participated in his demise, even if it was my hands that ultimately destroyed him.

I must say, knowing the victim wasn’t who you believed it to be, but watching you eat what I brought to your table was endlessly satisfying. You say it was evocative; I can’t deny that I feel the same, especially because I knew the identity of our meal during it’s consumption. I have also revisited that moment, hoping to feel some kind of repulsion. It has yet to happen. I do not feel akin to God, nor do I believe the destruction of a man that was sent to murder me is akin to a church collapse. I am not chaos or destruction; I am the repercussion of chosen actions that does not have enough of a conscience to keep from doling out a punishment to those who cross me. I have watched myself killing Randall Tier over and over in my dreams. Sometimes, his face morphs into yours, but more often than not, we simply consume him together. What would Freud say about that?

I still refuse to allow you to goad me into sending my responses to you. I may not have a choice but to write, but it doesn’t mean I have to give in to the temptation of giving you the satisfaction of reading the words contained within. You can keep hoping. I will hold back for as long as I can. I’m still hoping I can avoid it altogether. All I need is a distraction. You’ll be there for longer than I’d like to think about. Hopefully, I’ll grow numb one day, and stop responding altogether. Until then, I’ll continue to hide my weakness for you. You don’t deserve to know it’s there. You believe it’s more difficult to escape my demons twice. I disagree. It will be harder to be enthralled a second time, as long as I keep my distance. I plan to do just that.

Will Graham


	7. September

**September 5th**

Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

My Dearest Will,

The temperatures are already beginning to drop. Are the leaves turning color? Is the tree by your home shedding yet? Someday, I’d like to take in the sight with you. I am hopeful that I won’t remain where I am for the rest of my days. For this, not only am I exceedingly grateful, but I’m feeling something akin to isolation. I still believe that nobody has ever understood me as well as you do, a thought that bothers me now that we have been so separated. Regardless of the fact that you have remained silent, I still remain hopeful that one day you’ll choose to reach out to me, be it by your hand or with the assistance of another. Until that time, I still find writing these letters to be rather cathartic, a feeling I hope you also get by reading them. Forgive my frustration with you in my last letter. I cannot imagine refusing you anything, not if it’s what you truly want.

I have thought long on sending Jack a letter, something to comfort him in the wake of his losses. I make that plural, because Jack and I seemed to bond during our time together, playing at being officers of the law. Well, I was playing. He, of course, has always viewed himself as the lone hero; the man that everyone looks to hold up the skies and reassure them that they are not falling. Alas, he is not Atlas but merely a mortal like the rest of us. I was sorry to hear that Bella finally passed. She knew what was coming for her, tried to take chance away from it and choose death. I couldn’t let her do that to Jack, but after my betrayal as his friend, he saw fit to take her death and his pain out on me. That’s hardly a fair thing to do, but I can’t really say I blame him for it. He will have to come to terms with the fact that no matter how hard he pushes, some things are always going to be outside his sphere of influence. I wish you would have remained in that category, Will. I feel you would have been better, safer for it. You may choose to disagree, and we may never the reality behind my conjecture. My professional opinion stands. You would have been better off if Jack would have chosen to let you teach, asked your advice but didn’t force you back to the field. He has done you a disservice, one I’m not certain you should forgive him for. That’s up to you, of course, but your state of mind might argue the fact with you should you choose to do so.

The brand given to me by Mason Verger’s puppet has been aching as of late. While I am not one prone to showing emotion or pain, I am not without receptors to receive such sensations. I wake up on occasion, thinking of him as the skin on my back stretches and burns. I wonder how Mason would have fared long term. That chair to which he was relegated may have been uncomfortable, but snapping his neck without killing him was a kindness he didn’t truly deserve. I suppose the brand on my back was given to me in an attempt to dehumanize me, and cause me unnecessary pain in the way he felt I caused him the same. Unfortunately for him and others like him, he failed to understand that he is not the apex predator he believed himself to be. Mason deserved to be the last meal for his carnivorous companions, but Margot had to choose his demise in her own time and for the right reasons. She has an heir, which in turn gives her all of the material comforts a woman like her has grown accustomed to having. I believe Margot will thrive from all that transpired. I only wish she hadn’t chosen Alana as a mate. Our esteemed Doctor Bloom still hasn’t realized that I will bring about the ending that has already been written for her by her own choices. She didn’t survive the night in my home as she thinks she did. I always keep my promises. 

Do you know why I chose to paralyze Mason? I had several reasons, but some are far more prevalent than others. Margot needed an opportunity to be with him when he was no longer capable of hurting her. We all know she’s endured enough of that for a lifetime. She needed to understand that he could be weakened, and thus was not as invincible as he pretends to be. In addition, I felt it worth Mason’s time for him to learn some humility. There is nothing quite as humbling is the loss of your faculties, and the sudden need to rely on others for the fulfillment of your every day needs. I had been hoping he’d choose to become a kinder brother, but alas, I was incorrect in my misplaced optimism. He deserved to die as he did. I am pleased that Margot gets to keep her life intact as a result. I hope Alana keeps her relatively satisfied. Should she find their life inside the bedroom lacking, perhaps you can offer some assistance?

Speaking of cruelties, did you happen to find it upsetting that I changed the nature of your pack by introducing them to the delights of human flesh? Technically, I could still blame Mason, but he wasn’t without influence when he carved the flesh from his skull. I hope they were able to enjoy the meal, regardless of the source of the meat. Many indigenous tribes believe that the nature of a creature can be absorbed by the consumption of it’s physical form. They often ate the hearts of their enemies, believing that by doing so, it would allow them to absorb their courage as well. Have any of your pack gotten a taste of Mason’s need to be unnecessarily cruel? While I have nothing against cruelty, it should always be done with purpose, or it loses its impact. Mason was a shining example of wasted potential. Had he learned to channel his urges, he may have made a useful companion for a time.

While we are on the subject of the since fallen heir to the Verger meat packing plant, may I ask you a question? When Mason handed you the knife, you had the option to cut my throat and remove my influence from the world. It was there in your hands, your fantasy gifted to you. All that was missing was the silver platter. What was the reason that you chose not to act upon the opportunity presented to you? I know you are aware that Mason had every intention of killing you once you dispensed of me for him. You’ve never been a stupid man. But you could have realized your grand design at that very moment. You were even given the proper stage for it. Yet, something stayed your hand. Why did you allow me to live, Will? What do I still have to offer a man that won’t return my letters, but is so attached to me that he flew halfway across the world in an attempt to once again realize his grand vision of my death? Even as your psychiatrist, I have to admit that I have never quite understood why you chose to deny yourself the perfect opportunity to carry out the fantasy you harbored for murdering me in such a fashion. I’m infinitely grateful you didn’t, of course, but I find it curious.

I must confess something to you, a truth I hadn’t admitted to myself until recently. I never expected you to attempt to manipulate me into taking Mason’s life. I didn’t believe you were capable of that level of cunning, yet you were attempting to feed Jack information on my murders at that time, weren’t you? I hope you understand that I have already taken my pound of flesh, and thus forgiven you for your actions against me. You chose to warn me, Will. You let me go, even after you knew I am what I am. I have the greatest confidence that you will become as you are meant to be someday as well. I know we belong at eachother’s side when it happens. You are Patroclus. You will rise from the ashes of your former glory, and together we shall become unstoppable, unless God sends us a church collapse. It’s always possible I suppose, but I find it doubtful that he would take the time to do so, for he may not want the trouble we might cause in the afterlife together.

The fact that you’ve been given ample opportunities to murder me, yet you’ve chosen to refrain from doing so, gives me hope for who you will become. I am greatly looking forward to our next meeting, Will. I believe it will be most enlightening.

Until that time, take care of yourself, and stay out of the webs Jack keeps attempting to weave around you. You’re worth more than he believes you to be. I can only hope that one day, you see it.

Yours Faithfully,  
 _Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

**September 26th**

  
From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter   
Letter unsent

Hello Hannibal,

I always find the opening to your letters amusing. You choose to address the mundane before you get into the real reason you want to talk, or write, as it were. I wonder if you do this on purpose to lull me into a place of safety, a trick to make me feel as if we are friends instead of the uneasy truce we developed through fire and blood. I will have to continue to think on it. To answer your question, the leaves are barely beginning to change. The air is getting colder, the days shorter. This is the time I begin to think of you the most, maybe because the anniversary of your capture is almost upon us. I still dream of you kneeling in the snow with your hands laced on the top of your head, the look of understanding and despair we shared when you were taken into custody. Did he talk to you on the way to the Bureau, or was he as stoic as ever, avoiding your manipulations at all costs? He never talked to me about it afterward. It’s as if once you were locked up, all he wanted to do is forget you ever existed. I suppose I can’t really blame him for it, I just understand that for me, it isn’t possible.

Did you know that Pazzi told to me that he felt he wasn’t alone in the catacombs when I was searching for you there? He thought that if it came down it him or you, I’d do the right thing. Even after all this time, I still don’t know if that’s true. I would like to believe that had you chosen to try and end him there I would have helped him, because it would have been the right thing to do. I confessed to him that I did not know whose side I was on. I think you knew that, too. That’s why you didn’t act upon it, isn’t it? I knew you were there. I could feel your presence and was desperate to catch even the faintest a glimpse of you. I didn’t have my “forgiveness” in hand. I feel our reunion may have gone much differently than it did in Uffizi. Perhaps I would have attempted to end you with my hands instead. Isn’t intimacy what you always craved?

I know you feel I understand you better than most, but I do not believe this to be true. I don’t know if anybody has ever truly understood you. I’d like to humor the idea that if anyone did, it would be me, but that could also simply be hubris. I rejected your friendship outright when we met. I have come to the conclusion that this was my biggest mistake. Had I chosen to allow you close then, I would have not been as interesting to you. You would have grown bored, as you have grown bored of all the rest who have come before me. I wish to god, for all the good it does me, that it’s the path I would have taken. If I would have understood the darkness that would devour me, that’s how it would have occurred. Get you out of my system early, so to speak. Now, I can’t seem to shake you. You’re nowhere and everywhere, and I have almost come to crave the letters you send. I will never tell a living soul that truth, but they’ve become a sort of anchor to you, allowing me to come back to myself when I begin to come apart. The parts of me that have faded have remained that way; they elude my like wisps of smoke. As hard as I’ve tried, I can’t seem to pull them back together.

As far as your thoughts on writing to Jack… I’d recommend leaving him alone. He doesn’t need you to torment him, especially considering how much he torments himself. You betrayed him by pretending to be his friend in a world where he doesn’t have many people he can count on. This is unforgivable to him. I’m sure the knowledge that came with finding out that you’d been the one living a double life was almost as bad as it would have been if it were Bella. He bowed to the wisdom and advice of the man he was actively seeking, and chose to dismiss the person who gave him the information to capture you. He’s going to view that as a failure, no matter how much time passes. Regardless of what you believe, he showed you mercy in Italy because you once saved Bella’s life and he got a little more time to say goodbye. Had he not had that on his conscience, he’d likely have beaten you to death when he had you pinned beneath him in the Palazzo. I believe that if he was given a second opportunity, he wouldn’t hesitate. You’ve used the last of his mercy with the second attempt on my life. 

You have no right to lecture anybody on disservice, Hannibal. You understand what a joke it is for you to tell me that Jack did the worst thing possible by bringing me back into the field? You think what you did to me, the games you played with my mind and my heart, were better for me than Jack attempting to put people like you behind bars? I would have liked to remain where I was; behind a podium, lecturing others on my techniques so they could take them out into the world with them. I wanted both of you to leave me alone, but that wasn’t meant to be. You both decided my fate, but you are the one who spent the majority of the time you have known me trying to turn me into your accomplice. At least Jack never handed me a knife and told me to carve away pieces of a victim of circumstance, nor did he ensure the destruction of anybody I could have loved. That’s more than I can say for you. You stole not one but two chances at happiness and fatherhood from me. If there is something I cannot or will not choose to forgive, it’s that.

I didn’t get a look at the brand Mason had administered. I can imagine that seared flesh takes it’s time to heal. Have you ever watched someone burn to death? Did you watch the woman you set alight in the hospital burn, or did you just orchestrate her demise? At this point, I can’t put anything past you. I wonder now how Mason would have felt if he was served a piece of you that had the brand displayed. Do you think he would have taken particular pleasure in eating that selection? Both of you have chosen to dehumanize others, so you’d have had much to talk about if you didn’t ensure he died at the hands of his sister. I hope Margot was able to get some sort of closure from it. I can’t disagree on what his death should have been. It would have been justified to feed him to the animals he trained to consume human flesh. I didn’t catch the exact nature of his passing, but I hope it was painful. He was an animal, and deserved to be treated like one. I can only hope that if you’re given the opportunity to leave Alana alone to enjoy her happiness, you choose to leave this particular promise broken. You haven’t given yourself a timeline for her death; leave it as indefinite. She can pass from natural causes, and you can convince yourself that it was one of God’s cruelties. She doesn’t deserve any more pain from you than what you have already provided her with.

My pack has been much the same since before their introduction to exotic fare. They have no displayed any desire for more human flesh than they did before they consumed Mason’s face. I do not believe that the nature of human beings lies within animals that are natural predators. Our need to absorb the strength of others would not be transferred to them should they have the misfortune of eating us. I shudder to think what you and Mason could have accomplished together, and am grateful that you did not get the chance to eat him, even if his rudeness called for it. To answer the second half of your questions about your capture at the hands of Mason Verger, I released you because I wouldn’t have survived the trip to the farm if I killed you. I was disappointed that you left me at the farm when you took Mason with you, especially since you took him to my home. The stage offered to me was not my fantasy. The cruel audience detracted from what the act was meant to be. There was no true intimacy in it, not with Mason and Matteo cheering me on from the sidelines. If you are ever at my mercy in such a fashion, I want to be alone so I can watch the light leave your eyes, relish that you’d never again be able to manipulate me, or anybody else. My only reservation is I don’t know now if I would be able to do it. I have wanted revenge for what you did to me, to Abigail, but the world would not be the same without you in it. I have truly come to find you interesting, and I am not as much myself when you are not with me. What does it say about me that even though you’ve tried several times to ruin my life that I can’t let you go? I sometimes visit your office, your home, just to be in the places that hold the strength you gave me. I miss our conversations, Hannibal. I miss being sure of myself like I was when I had you at my side.

I am still holding out hope that when the day comes that I will want to reach out to you that I can resist the temptation. I was so deeply entrenched in what was happening between us at the time that I couldn’t stand by and allow you to be captured. I can admit that now. I am also acutely aware that should we come face to face again, there is every likelihood that I will follow you into the darkness as I once wanted to. I am strong, but not strong enough to resist your lure a second time. Part of me still wishes I had been in Italy with you instead of Bedelia, that it would have been me at your side as you walked the roads so familiar to you. I wish you would have been able to take me to the places you love, share with me your experiences. Should you ever manage to come calling and ask me to disappear with you a second time, I don’t think I can say no. I hope it never comes to that.

Will Graham


	8. October

October 11th

Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Will,

The change in the weather is finally upon us. I caught the scent of dry leaves on Alana’s jacket when she arrived today. I peruse the halls of my memory palace in search of the riot of color that explodes through the trees every Autumn. I would give much to walk beside you through the colorful days the cold brings us. I do not know if you would consent to such an adventure, though. I think there is much we could still give one another if you would allow it, but I believe there is also much you won’t allow yourself to want. Perhaps that’s something we can discuss at our next meeting.

Autumn has me thinking about the infinite loop of beginnings and endings. Although All Hallows is traditionally the end of things, it’s also the bounty from the year. There are other traditions that are equally fascinating as well. Did you know that many fertility and matchmaking rites happened on Halloween? When the veil is thin, it was thought that our ancestors push us towards those with whom we are meant to share our existence. Bobbing for apples, the egg trick, divination. They were all designed for less nefarious activities during the shortest days of the year. Would you find my initials on an apple, Will? Would it be my silhouette you’d see? I do not know if you’d be willing to admit it, even if it were to occur. There could be much between us, an intimacy I had not thought to consider until the end of my freedom. I often wonder how different things would be if I had. Would you have still been willing to tell Jack the truth? Would you have allowed Abigail to perish? Or would the three of us be safely ensconced in a home in Italy, preparing to watch the lighting of a Wicker Man? What do you think, Will? Although there are ghosts and ghouls about during this time of year, I’m far more interested in what haunts your waking hours.

Do you remember the day we met? You were seated in front of Jack’s desk, watching as I studied the murder board our Agent Crawford had constructed. I could feel your gaze from across the room, the underlying frustration that was only marginally pushed aside by your curiosity. You didn’t know who I was or why I was there, but you were drawn to me, weren’t you? I felt much the same for you. I knew nothing of you except your reputation for being able to see the monsters at work, yet my own monster was not immediately drawn to the surface. Instead, I sought to understand you. I wanted to help Jack at least acknowledge the peril he was putting you in by having you work the way you do. You said you built forts around the worst of what you saw, but they were often torn down in your need to illustrate what was happening from the worst of what society has to offer. When given the opportunity, look how quickly you saw through the veneer of my “person suit”, as Bedelia is so fond of calling my more human persona. You, who worked with me only briefly, knew what I was, as if at a glance. You were able to get underneath my skin, to my very essence in ways that nobody has since Mischa; a gift I didn’t believe I’d be given twice in a lifetime. I’m still loathe to give it up, Will. I want more of your empathy. You have a knack for the monsters because there is darkness inside you, borne of the things you’ve had to witness in the name of Saint Jack and the all mighty FBI. He’s done this to you as surely as what I did to others.

Did Jack ever tell you my assessment of you in that first meeting? I remember it exactly because I have found myself lost in the memory of that day often. You were so angry with me for being able to see you as clearly as you see others. I truly did not mean to analyze you as I did, nor did I believe I would so completely correct in my assessment. I was shocked at what I found within you, though. While we were nothing alike at the time, you had the ability to empathize with me completely. If given enough time and information, you could have easily assumed my point of view to the point of being able to see everything I have ever done through my eyes, as if you were me. While I appreciate that this is not an easy gift to possess, I have always valued it in you. Its how you found me in Italy, why you left me the gift of the moth man in the Lecter Estate. Yes, Chiyoh told me about him. She has been back to that wretched place, even though it still holds too many ghosts for me. You were always able to see who I truly am, and although it was what caused me to eventually give myself over to Jack’s need to put an end to my murders, I could not have asked for a better quality in a friend. Yes, Will. I know you still believe us to be light years away from friendship, but we were at one point. It’s why you warned me of what was to come. It’s how you have always been able to retrace my steps. I want that from you, maybe more than any other quality I could ask for in another person. A mirror to see myself with clarity, because you view me through my own eyes. I think you have kept me more human than I would have been otherwise. Far be it from us to know what I would have become.

I was afraid of what you saw when we met. I do not believe I’ve felt real fear since running away from Mischa’s captors; that was so long ago, I hardly remember what it was like to feel such acute emotional turmoil. Then I walked into a room, a place where you were seated and staring at me as if I committed some great offense. I spoke with you briefly, and I understood what would become of me if I chose to allow you to see into me. You could easily be my undoing if I let you close enough. I wanted you to destroy yourself, but in orchestrating the possibility, I realized that I would miss you if you were gone. Watching you suffer in prison while you went through a trial for crimes you did not commit is the closest I’ve come to remorse in more years than I care to count. I wanted to see what would happen, but the actual effect was an irrevocable change within myself. I tied myself to you with the games I played, and didn’t understand how invested I had become in the outcome. Even though I caused some of the hurt, I very much wanted to ensure it was for a purpose, and that something good came from it. Look at how strong you have become, how much easier it is for you to see through the veneer, straight to the reality of how things truly are. Jack refused to believe you, as did our esteemed Doctor Bloom. Yet you stuck with it until the nature of my darkness was revealed to all. You wouldn’t have been able to hone your senses without the trials I put you through. I hope you keep that in mind while we are apart.

I have truly come to miss our discussions. I hope that you break the silence you have chosen to keep this year. The time for me passes slowly, and I’d rather see you in the flesh. Finding you in my memory palace is no challenge. You are nowhere and everywhere. I even miss the atrocity you call aftershave, more with the passing days. I would settle for a letter for now. After everything I’ve given you, it’s polite to reciprocate. Or… do you fear what would become of you if you give in to what we both know you want?

I’ll be waiting, Will. I seem to have nothing but time.

Yours Faithfully,  
 _Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

October 31st

From Will Graham, to Hannibal Lecter   
Letter unsent

  
Hello Hannibal,

It seems rather fitting to have chosen to respond to your most recent correspondence on Halloween. You have worn so many masks in the time we have known one another, it seems appropriate that the day I write to you is the day you’d feel amongst your equals. You didn’t see anyone you ate as an equal; perhaps you’d feel more at home with those who also try to fool themselves they are something impossible. Who was it that said ‘man is least himself when he talks in his own person, give him a mask and he will tell you the truth’? Wilde, I believe. It sounds like something he would say; he always had a little melancholic pessimism about him. I’m not even sure I’ve met you without the person suit hiding at least part of your truer nature. I wonder if you’re as much of a monster as you believe yourself to be… or if you’re worse than even you can ever imagine. 

As much as it might surprise you, I actually have some knowledge into the rites of Halloween and their origins. Contrary to what may be believed, I am not that sheltered. I did go to college, and comparative religion was amongst the courses I chose to take. The Pagan rites of Samhain are known to me. Its only in recent years that such rites have been performed without their truest purpose. We no longer look to eggs and apples to tell us the future and what it holds; instead we open our phones and look at pictures of strangers with the hopes that a cleverly worded short text opening line will find us within their sphere of being. Real connections with the people around us are rare, which may be why the connection we had was so instantly powerful. Not that we were a couple. We were not, nor do I believe you capable of feeling such emotions. Perhaps its better that we were never more to one another. Who knows what would have happened if you were, and what lengths I’d be going to now to ensure your happiness and freedom from the cage you have chosen. I would have followed you if you would have allowed it. You still hold me responsible for your actions, like what you did to Abigail. You manipulated me, tortured me with my own mind, yet you say you cared for me. There is only so much I can believe, so much my heart can take, even as a ‘what if’. Had we been intimate friends, perhaps I would not have told Jack what you are, but on the same coin, you likely wouldn’t have tried to destroy my mind, just to see what would happen.

You want to know the worst part of all of it? Even with everything you put me through, had you expressed any kind of emotional interest in me, I may have still followed you away from this wretched place. I still have moments of complete honesty with myself, and I know that, when it comes to how I feel about you, my will is weak. I have never been more of who I am than when I am with you, but I don’t believe that our powers combined could be anything but a destructive force. Chaotic evil. I cannot imagine unleashing a pair such as us onto the masses. There would be carnage for miles around us. Look at the destruction we caused in the time I allowed myself to be who I am without fetters. It would only multiply as time goes on. No, the world is better without us having access to the darkness that binds us. 

Would I have told Jack who and what you are if we were involved? I suppose it depends on how honest you had chosen to be with me beforehand. If I didn’t know what you were and you chose not to show me, much like you did with Alana… then yes. I would have told him. But as I told Jack before Italy, there will always be a part of me that regrets not leaving with you when I had the chance. That same part that clings to you will always take the opportunity to leave with you, even if you were to make it out of prison. I don’t know what rules me more now; the side of me that prefers the quiet classroom setting, teaching others to do what comes naturally to me, or chasing my darkness to the ends of the earth, letting it cause destruction where it will. I would like to believe that after a time, we would have tempered the worst of one another’s impulses, but that may never be tested. What haunts me on this, the night of the year when the veil thins? You. You are the ghost, the wickedness that follows me wherever I go. I don’t know, even now, how to be myself without you by my side. I cannot remember who I was before you. I don’t know how to exist as myself after you. There is only who I am in this moment, and I must learn to be content with that.

I remember very distinctly the day we met. I did not know who you were or what you were there to do, but I found myself drawn into your web before you ever sat beside me. I was curious in the way I’m curious about everyone. You were different, though. You wanted more from me than most do. You wanted to crack me open and see what darkness may lay inside of me. I wonder if you orchestrated your own kills to see what I would do, see if I was truly as good as you thought I was. I have also wondered if I asked you now, if you’d be honest with me about your initial intentions. Would you tell me what you want from me, or would you continue to play your games to see how far I could be pushed before I snap. Wind me up, bait the hook, see if you can lure me close enough to open me up and set me loose upon the unsuspecting masses. I don’t believe your curiosity has come to an end. I think I’ll forever be some kind of experiment to you. A paper you could write on how my mind works when it I am given only myself to feed upon. It could not have ended well, and maybe it never will, even if we are given another chance.

You and I both know Jack well enough to know that it doesn’t matter what you said or did, he would have done what he wanted with me. He chose to put me out in the field, solving his crimes although I was a risk. What happened was no less than he deserved. Do you ever wonder if he regrets it? I do. I sometimes think he does. I wonder if Jack knows it’s his fault that you got as far as you did; if, in trying to catch you, I found myself in the net you so carefully threw around me, although had you asked, I would not have admitted to the existence of the trap. I wonder if he would care. I still don’t know how much I was just a tool in his arsenal. Once I am no longer useful… well, he hasn’t talked to me in the long months since Italy. I suppose that could be considered my answer.

I had hopes that you’d find it in you to visit the Lecter Estate so you could find the moth man on your own. I felt his emergence, as well as his consumption, to be a fitting end to a wretched life. I think about him more often now. I wonder if I chose to end him because I didn’t agree with you… or if I chose to orchestrate his end because you and I are just alike. No person, regardless of what he has done, deserves to be kept like an animal. Your cage is comfortable, but it is also still a cage. I wonder what will happen when you find your way out of it. I have no doubt that you will once again roam the lands as a free man. It concerns me, but perhaps not as greatly as it should. I do ponder what will happen to those who have crossed you, though. How will you repay them for their perceived kindnesses? You say I see you; I agree. It is because I see you that I have grown to both fear you and be unable to live without you. I don’t know how to resolve the paradox. I have no doubt that you will use my indecision to the best of your advantage when we next meet. I still hold out hope to build a life beyond the broken cup of the past few years. I hope I can keep my distance for long enough to let the ache of losing you subside, making my escape from your clutches a second time all the more likely. 

You say that I should write… that politeness and reciprocity demand it. You have forgotten that while you claim to have given me much, you’ve taken away an equal amount. While I may wish to send you the entire stack beneath my gun, I know I can add this one to the pile and wait for the moment of need to pass. It always does. We are both patient men.

Will Graham


	9. December

**December 8th**

  
Sent from Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Doctor Hannibal Lecter, to Will Graham  
C/O FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

  
Hello Will,

Per our previous conversations, I believe it would be pertinent to begin with general comments on the weather, do you agree? It’s almost become tradition. I can feel the cold radiating from the walls of my confines. Although the days tend to blend together in an endless, tedious loop of meals, medication, a modicum of sleep, and keeping myself entertained as much as I can when in a cage. I’ll admit that I shouldn’t have tormented my visitors as I did. I may have had more if I didn’t do so. It has become my nature to question everything those around me tell me. Your deception and manipulation of my emotions and actions before I left for Italy plays a large part in the alterations in my personality. Who would have thought that you were right? You did change me after all. It’s become evident to me just how much as the days pass me by.

I am getting ahead of myself. The weather. We are in December, so the landscape is likely covered in a blanket of snow. I’ve always enjoyed the cold. It reminds me of my home, a place to which I may never be able to return. The Lecter estate holds almost as many ghosts as my home here in the states. Do you believe Abigail would haunt the place where she passed? I have often wondered if you’d find her there if you chose to look for her. How many ghosts exist for you now? Do you still see Abigail’s father in your day to day work, or have you seen less of him now that you aren’t wading through the trials and tribulations of the FBI? I’d like to think that you’ve found some respite from that particular spirit. Garrett Jacob Hobbs did you more harm than good, just like your work for Jack.

I wanted to send you a letter a month ago, but I’ve found that while I attempted to formulate words into sentences to convey what I was feeling as the days grow darker, the custom of Thanksgiving prevented it. The idea of giving thanks for our circumstances and the bounty we have had through the year is preposterous. I have been confined to a cell for a month short of a year, and I have nothing for which to be grateful, save Alana’s “kindness” in interceding with my location within these walls. I came to find that she likes my solitude as much as she wants to prevent any incidents I might cause if I were given access to other patients, so I still choose to remain stoic about her decision. I enjoy the few privileges she has ensured I have, but I also know they come equipped with the strings of power she believes she wields over me. I hope, in the end, she doesn’t forget that I always keep my promises, and I have bestowed upon her a hefty one.

You have given me none of the comfort of a friend, Will. Do you truly believe, after all this time, that we mean nothing to one another? I am not grateful for your silence or distance from me. I do not have any appreciation for your decision to cut me from your life so completely. Need I remind you how many times I saved you when I could have let you die? I owed it to Alana as part of the terms of my release from the ropes that bound me at the farm, but I could have betrayed her without a second thought. I took you with me so you would not be present in the aftermath of what was to occur at Muskrat Farm. I have held your life in my hands so many times, had I not given our time together its own rooms within my memory palace, I’d hardly be able to remember them all. You continue to pretend as if the time we spent together never existed, but I know your true nature. You will one day have to return to me. When you do, your current treatment will be taken into account.

Speaking of Muskrat Farm, since we are coming up on the anniversary of our escape, I thought we could discuss those few terrible hours at the hands of Mason Verger and his trusty watch dog, Cordell. I have to say that if I were to choose my own end, residing in the belly of another has its appeal. I would live on in a way, sustaining the life of the man that took mine. I am thankful Alana came to her senses and cut me loose, even if she did extract a promise from me to save you to do so. Being a drawn out meal has never appealed to me, although I have partaken of another in such a fashion. Do you remember Doctor Gideon, Will? He met a unique end, consuming pieces of himself as part of his last meals. I kept him with me for a time; a suitable punishment for a man who allowed himself to be coerced into believing he was capable of crimes he would not have been able to stomach had it not been for the influence of Chilton. One day, he too will find his way to my table, and it won’t be to enjoy the meal. That is another promise I give freely.

I know I have spoken of the interesting stretch of flesh my wounds cause me. My brand is a constant source of irritation, especially as the temperatures begin to drop. I can now understand the ache in the joints the elderly complain of in the colder months of the year. It is not unbearable, but uncomfortable. I have the persistent reminder of our near escape from the clutches of both Mason and his pigs. I would have been grateful to consume him, but when I was told of the nature of his demise, I am strangely content with Margot’s decision. She needed her own hands around his throat more than I needed to taste the flesh of a particularly rude pig, and his eel got a mouthful before he expired. All of the cruelty he inflicted will die with him, especially since Margot will soon have a child of her own. I see Alana’s belly swelling more with the passing months. I hope their child is male, and that although it will contain Mason’s DNA, it doesn’t inherit his disposition. While cruelty doesn’t have any effect on me, malice without purpose is a waste.

The chunk of flesh you took from Cordell’s face has been parading through my dreams of late. It pleased me greatly that you took a bite from him before he sought to torture you. It didn’t matter that you had no previous major transgressions against Mason; he was determined that your face was to removed without the help of anesthesia. I believe he took insult to the fact that you cut me loose the first time he had me within his grasp. I would have liked to ask why he wanted to wear your features for his own. He would not have your strength of character, and your face would have fit him poorly. I had such high hopes for you when you sank your teeth into the hapless caregiver’s cheek. Would it disturb you to know that I found it arousing as well as amusing? I have not had such a reaction without playing the role of a normal person in some time. Your savagery calls to my truest nature, and although you still deny me, I won’t let you slip from my grasp so easily.

When Jack saw what had become of you, and heard about Mason’s plans, do you think he felt remorse in taking you from behind the safety of your speaking podium and back into the fray? I have often wondered if he pays any kind of emotional penance for what he’s done to you. You have seen him recently, even if you have chosen to stay away from the FBI and it’s gaping maw. Does he treat you like a teacup or a scapegoat? When he looks at you, is there a flicker in his eye, an understanding of what he caused you to become? Regardless of my role in your becoming, Jack has to understand that he began your journey when he borrowed your imagination and turned it into a tool for him to abuse. I have only served to give you an outlet for your deeper emotional traumas. He hasn’t tried to help in any way recover what you lost in me. How does that make you feel?

I do not know if Jack spoke to you of my rescue before you said your goodbyes. I carried you on foot from the Muskrat Farm while Chiyoh shot our pursuers from the treetops. As you are aware, she is a very good shot, and she will always protect me when she is able. I carried you in my arms, Will. I held your life in my hands, helped you escape when you were so filled with medication, you would have died on the operating table under Cordell’s knife. If you know that part of the story, here is the part of which you haven’t been made aware. I have realized that I made a mistake when I tried to eat you. I do not admit my mistakes lightly, but I almost made a grievous one with you. While we may not always agree, I can say with utmost certainty that the world would be a poorer place without you in it. Even if I had never been caught after I consumed you, I would never be free of your memory. You have gotten beneath my skin, into my very being and there is no going back to who I was before you. I cannot live without knowing that you exist somewhere in the world.

I will give you a gift, as Christmas is swiftly approaching. If you choose, I will cease the letters I have chosen to write during my confinement. If you do not respond, I will no longer try to reach out to you. I know you will come to me when you are ready, and if I truly feel as I believe I do, I can practice the necessary patience for you to come back to me. After all, isn’t the saying “if you love him, let him go?” I am setting you free, for now. That’s what we do for the ones we love. You will always belong to me, though. I know you will come back to me. Perhaps, you need some time to gain perspective. I have nothing left to me but time to give.

Merry Christmas, Will.

Yours Sincerely,  
 _Hannibal Lecter_

* * *

**December 24th**

Sent to Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane  
From Will Graham, to Doctor Hannibal Lecter  
Transferred from FBI Baltimore Field Office, Behavioral Science Unit

Hello Hannibal,

I hope this letter finds you well. I would love to know if you have been holding both sides of the conversations we no longer have, or do you know somehow that I’ve been responding all along? While the former makes me feel safer, I’m sure you’ll claim with accuracy the latter. You have mentioned the weather in every letter to ease me into responding, and it’s been a comfort to see you write of things I consider mundane because of my freedom. It is cold, the kind that seeps beneath your skin and requires a hot bath and several hours in front of a fire to force it to retreat. The days for me are not much different than your own; they blend together in meals and boat parts, taking care of my pack. I sometimes forget the seasons have changed until I walk out into the cold, endless white of winter. Even with the fire, I’m never truly warm. It does not surprise me that you enjoy the cold. It seems to suit your nature.

I wish I could have spoken with you at length about your upbringing, especially after visiting your ancestral seat. It was fascinating to see the fall from opulence the place must have once been. It felt haunted, just as you say. If I would have known where Mischa was buried, I would have laid flowers on her grave for you, and for all those her death has caused. Do you believe she would appreciate knowing what has become of you, her protector? Do you think the deaths of others have satisfied her terrible departure from this world? If you believe you left your ghosts within the estate walls, you don’t know yourself as well as you think you do. You carry the dead with you just as much as I do. Garrett Jacob Hobbs has receded into my memories, but Abigail remains with me always. She deserved better than what we provided. I often believe I should have saved her the trouble of her remaining brief life and let her bleed out onto her kitchen floor. She would have been better for it, and I wouldn’t be so attached to you. One less string of guilt to hold me.

You have nothing for which to be grateful? You’re alive and safe, even though you killed dozens, if not hundreds of people that did not deserve your special brand of savagery. Alana doesn’t owe you anything, but she is afraid of who you are and what you’ll do to her and her family if you are ever to escape the confines of your cell. Neither of us has put it from our minds that you may actually do it one day. She relishes in holding the keys to your prison, but she knows you have agency in the world that will eventually prevent you from being in a place you don’t want to be. She provides you with what she can in the hope that you’ll leave one promise unfulfilled. You could have nothing but your memory palace to keep you company; instead you have books and drawings, better accommodations than many visiting professors. These are things you should not take for granted, even though it is in your nature to be petulant.

I don’t believe we are nothing to one another. I am not even certain that I can’t call you a friend. I have deemed you as one many times, especially to Jack when he came to ask me about your escape to Italy. I told him I should have left with you; I’m still unsure I could resist if I was ever given a second chance. I can’t be trusted to be rational where you are involved, although it has nothing to do with your savior complex. You are once again trying to manipulate me into believing that you and only you can understand me, that I can be saved by your hand alone. We both know that isn’t true. You have often sought to isolate me from everyone but you, giving me no other outlet to believe in. You’ve physically and mentally manipulated the situations we’ve been in, you’ve killed those I love. Yet here I am, finally sending you the letters you’ve been begging for. We’ve saved each other, Hannibal. It’s not one sided. I saved you from Mason first. I warned you about Jack. I would not have killed you in Italy. I would have hurt you, but I could never kill you. I don’t think I’d survive it.

Cordell and Mason still haunt my dreams as well as yours. I don’t often feel fear, but after my misjudgment of biting into Cordell’s flesh, only to find out that he meant to cut off my face without any kind of anesthesia, I was truly afraid. You may have borne a brand on your skin, but we wouldn’t have been in that predicament if you would have killed the monster with Mason’s mangled face in the first place. I know you are aware I was trying to manipulate you into giving yourself away by committing a crime of your own, but it would have saved us a lot of pain and trouble if you would have taken his life when you had the chance. I do have to say that Margot and Alana came out better for it, so I am not completely ungrateful for your choices. I hope their child is a boy, one they can raise to be better than his predecessors. None of us deserve to sully the innocence of a child, but with the bloody history of his family, it’s likely he won’t come through to adulthood unscathed by the darkness that resides within them. It pains me that your brand aches as it does. I mean that sincerely. You endured much more than I did that day, and didn’t deserve the scars you were given as a result.

It would please you to know that Cordell’s flesh was as unpleasant as the man himself. I couldn’t bring myself to swallow it knowing he’d occupy any space within my body, if only briefly. I am grateful you were able to prevent him from cutting off my face. Mason held plenty against me; you forget it was me who gave Margot the possibility of an heir, a thought that never crossed her mind in a meaningful way until then. I also cut you loose at Muskrat Farm, and it was to my dogs he fed his face. I’m sure the list of pains was longer than either of us will ever know, but his desire to wear my face as his own has become a reoccurring nightmare I can’t seem to shake. I believe part of his choice was because he knew it would disturb you to see him as me for what was to remain of your life. Anything he could do to bring you pain would be enough for him to attempt it. As to your bodily reactions to my indiscretion, I won’t speak on it beyond saying I’m not surprised.

Jack hasn’t, nor will he ever show any kind of remorse for his decision to bring me back into action from the comfort of my previous position. I haven’t really forgiven him for it. Forgiveness seems to be on short supply these days. I do not know if he feels any kind of responsibility, although it may be the reason he no longer speaks to me. I also stopped returning his calls. My journey didn’t begin with Jack, though. It began with the very first time I saw you in his office, standing before the murder board, surveying our work with an intensity of which I have never seen the like. I had not met anyone like you, someone who could see so deeply into who I am. It still bothers me that you can read me enough to manipulate my emotions and reactions. You were not my outlet; you were always a catalyst. You caused the reaction, you took me down the path towards the darker parts of myself. Do not lay that blame or credit on anybody but yourself.

I did not know you carried me away from the farm. I knew we escaped, but the details have not been given to me. Most days, I am thankful to you for saving my life. There have also been times that I wish you let me die on that table, left me there to overdose. I knew the sleep I was under for those days in my home where you kept watch were due to the medication in my system. I was surprised to find you at my side, and sometimes I regret the last words we shared. I could have been kinder, especially since you saved my life. I never truly expected you to give yourself over to Jack, but I saw the sorrow and pain etched into your face, heard it in your words when you told Jack you wanted me to know where to find you. I know you were speaking to me. We have gotten ahold of one another in ways that neither of us are likely to survive. I don’t know what to label it, although dependency seems as good a place to start as any.

I don’t know how you’ll take the last of this letter, but I’m certain I won’t hear from you for a time. There is a reason I’ve chosen to write you now, to send you the letters I’ve been writing to you. I’ve met someone. I think, if we continue to bond the way we have, she may be able to heal the deeper wounds you have caused in me. I won’t tell her everything about who I am, nor will I tell her everything about you, but I feel I can be honest with her about what I very nearly became. I have a chance at happiness with her, a place where I can live in the light. I feel you deserve to know that its happening, and that you have no power to stop me from forging new connections. Should you choose to respond, I may not write you back. I want to move forward, Hannibal. I want to be happy. I can’t do that with you, not in the darkness you want to drag me into. 

I will never forget you, but I may be able to heal from our experiences. If you love me, let me go. Let me have this chance. Give me the gift you are promising, and I will do the best I can with the time I have left to me. 

Please.

Merry Christmas,  
Will Graham

* * *

“Are you sure you want to give all of these to him, Will? You’ve managed to stay away for so long, and I’m not sure what good it will do either of you.” Will ran a hand through his curls and closed his eyes against the intensely concerned gaze of Alana Bloom, the one person he could trust to ensure Hannibal got his letters without them being read beforehand. Although he had nothing against the FBI, they didn’t need to read the personal thoughts he shared within them. _They’re for Hannibal’s eyes only. She will ensure it stays that way._

“Yes,” he replied after a time. “It’s important that we both have some form of closure to who we were. This is what I can give him to help him understand. I want to try a real relationship with Molly, but to do so I have to be able to let this… him, go.” Alana stared for a moment longer before she nodded, resigned.

“And should he choose to continue writing?” 

“It’s fine. Have them forwarded to the house. I gave him the option, but I’m hoping he keeps true to his word.” He handed her the thick envelope of letters, a small smile on his lips. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s the least I could do after everything we put you through,” she replied. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you, Will. None of it was your fault.” Will laughed without humor, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t matter now. All I can hope is that he lets me go.” He turned, making his way to the door without a backward glance. “Goodbye, Alana.” 

“Goodbye, Will.” 

***

Alana sat at her desk for more than an hour before standing to make her way painfully down the hall to the cell created to contain the most monstrous man she had ever met. At her approach, he stood from his desk to meet her near the barrier between them. Maroon eyes watched as she grew closer, gleaming low in the firelight.

“Hello, Alana,” Hannibal greeted her amiably. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?” Alana hesitated a moment before holding up the envelope.

“Good evening, Doctor. I have a personal delivery for you.” Hannibal snorted, turning to return to his desk. 

“I won’t be granting any more interviews or doing more questionnaires, thank you. You can-”

“They’re from Will.” The doctor froze in his tracks, turning his head to meet her gaze, his own burning with curiosity.

“They’re from-” She nodded, approaching the barrier.

“He just delivered them,” she said. “Do you still want me to dispose of them?” 

“No, thank you. I have been waiting some time for him to break his silence. May I have some privacy for the next hour?” Alana shook her head.

“The usual guard will be stationed. You know the rules.” Hannibal closed his eyes, willing his heart to cease its pounding.

“Please,” he whispered, his eyes soft and dark, pleading. “I promise I will not cause a problem during that time. I just… need some space.” Alana stared into his eyes for a long moment, contemplating. Finally, she inclined her head and stepped back.

“Fine,” she relented. “I’ll instruct the guards to keep from your space for an hour. Will that suffice?” 

Relief bloomed across his features as he reached for the envelope, pulling it from the drawer that allowed items to come to him within his cell.

“Thank you, Doctor Bloom,” he said, his eyes on the floor. She nodded before turning to leave. Hannibal made his way to his desk, hands trembling. He waited until silence fell, signaling the removal of his guards, before he opened the envelope. Surprised, he emptied the contents onto the wooden surface, counting the envelopes. Each letter was labeled with the date it was written, the handwriting small and neat, exactly as he had pictured it would be. Bringing one to his nose, he inhaled, catching the faintest whiff of Will’s skin clinging to the paper. _There you are. I knew you wouldn’t leave me._

He unfolded the letter marked January and began to read. 

_Hello Doctor Lecter…_

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part one of this story. Each part will take place over the course of a year that Hannibal and Will are parted due to Hannibal's incarceration. The second part will begin shortly.
> 
> For those of you wondering if Will was ever going to send his letters... we all knew his resolve would break eventually. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. A huge thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who takes the time to leave me kudos and comments, as well as those who just chose to read this story. It means so much to me that I have created something you want to read. If you want to find out what happens next, the first chapter to the new part will be released this week. I will begin a collection for them so you don't lose where you are in the story.
> 
> Hearts and Body Parts,  
> 🤍 JM


End file.
